


folklore

by Heath17_KO5, JustCrushALot



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, Friends to Lovers, longterm fic, preath endgame, soran endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:27:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 44,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25768927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heath17_KO5/pseuds/Heath17_KO5, https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustCrushALot/pseuds/JustCrushALot
Summary: Tobin is lost and adrift summer before her junior year of high school. Christen is figuring out who she is and finding her stride. Lindsey, heading into her freshman year of high school, is learning to have confidence in herself, and Emily, also heading into her freshman year, is adjusting to a new school and new friends, one of whom she has a crush on…...and that's just the beginning. Life and love and college and adulthood come fast.
Relationships: Christen Press/Emily Sonnett, Lindsey Horan/Emily Sonnett, Tobin Heath/Christen Press
Comments: 206
Kudos: 376





	1. the last great american dynasty

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter will be inspired by lyrics from a specific song from Taylor Swift's album, folklore (and will be titled the song in question). POV will switch around, but we start off with Tobin.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobin gets shipped off to her Great Aunt's in Rhode Island for the summer where she makes a new friend.

#### She had a marvelous time ruining everything

* * *

_It will be good for you to get away. The change of scenery will do you good. You’ll be at the beach all summer. You’ll get some time in the sun, you’ll get away from everything and get to know your great aunt a bit. You’ll get over this “mood” that you’ve gotten into._

That’s what they said as they informed her of her summer plans, as they piled her into the train with her rolling suitcase, as they hugged her goodbye and she stood there, stiff, not bothering to return their smiles. 

That’s what echoes in her mind as she stares at the waves, the pebbles making up the rocky beach warm beneath her hand. It’s early still. Early enough that the sun is shining into her eyes, reflecting off the waves, blinding. 

A scattering of rocks and a dramatic curse break her from her reverie, and she looks back towards the house to see her Great Aunt Taylor making her way precariously over the rocky shore, swaying slightly, though there is a grace to her movements, sheer bathing suit cover-up blowing in the wind behind her, vibrant blue bikini clearly visible through it. She’s in good shape for her age, all toned muscles and tanned skin, keen blue eyes bright despite the half empty cocktail glass in hand. 

“Good morning, darling. Been up long?”

Tobin feels the hints of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. It’s a strange sensation, far too unfamiliar, and it stops the smile in its tracks. She squints up at her aunt as she comes to a stop beside her, wobbling only slightly. She has yet to ask, yet to press, and Tobin appreciates that. Instead, she seems to take her at face value. “Not too long, I just thought it would be nice to get out of the house and watch the waves for a bit. They’re really peaceful in the morning. I feel like they know some secret to life that I don’t.”

Aunt Taylor (she had been informed that she simply would not tolerate the word Great in front of that upon her arrival - “Great Aunts are ancient, old fuddy-duddies, darling. I am nothing of the sort!”) studies her for a moment. “Well, you’re only sixteen, you have a lot of life to live and a lot of secrets to learn.” She pauses before adding with a chuckle, “Including the recipe for the perfect gin martini. We’ll fix that one, at least, this summer.”

Tobin lets out a small laugh and casts her eyes to the ground as she traces her toe through the dirt below her. She’s adjusting to life here. It’s nothing like it is at home. No schedules, no expectations, and no company her own age. Aunt Taylor is nice enough, and, well, a bit strange, but she’s in her 70s. She is still unsure why her parents seemed to think that Aunt Taylor was going to magically save her. She plans to take advantage of the beach as much as possible, at least, and there is a local summer soccer league, but she can’t help but miss her friends back home (or, perhaps, one friend, in particular). “Sounds fun, Aunt Taylor,” she manages to mutter. 

A silence settles between them as Aunt Taylor settles herself on the rocky beach beside her, both watching the waves ripple, listening to the soothing sound of the surf. There’s an ease to this, a comfort to the silence. Overhead a gull squawks. A bit further up the harbor a buoy bell clangs. 

“I’m really glad you’re here, Tobin,” Aunt Taylor says, patting her leg comfortingly, then pushing up, back to her feet, her cocktail glass now empty. She groans as she stands. “These bones are no longer made for sitting on the ground. Not that I’m old,” she adds with a wink and a carefree laugh. 

Tobin chuckles. She wonders if she will ever have the effortless social butterfly persona that Aunt Taylor seems to so easily possess. She’s unflappable, easily ignoring curious stares and whispers behind her back when they venture into town. Everyone knows her, and her friends, all incredibly elegant and varying in age, are regular visitors to Holiday House. She always seems to have the right words to say, even after her 7th cocktail of the evening. Tobin smiles up at her aunt before looking back down to the ground. “Thanks, Aunt Taylor. I’m glad I’m here, too. Thank you so much for having me. ”

She gets to her feet too, feeling like perhaps now that her aunt is up (and drinking) she should accompany her back inside. Surprisingly strong fingers under her chin lift her face up and direct her gaze back up from the ground. “I mean it. Not just here at Holiday House with me for the summer, but here in general. Just so you know.”

Tobin searches her face for a sign that she might know a lot more about Tobin than she’s letting on, but she decides it’s impossible. _People can’t know your secrets if you never tell anyone; especially if you don’t tell yourself._ “Thanks, Aunt Taylor.”

Calm blue eyes study her face for a moment longer, though Tobin can’t tell what they’re searching for. Whatever it is, they seem to find it, because Aunt Taylor drops her hand to her side and nods with a contented hum. 

“Right. Now go make a friend,” she instructs, gesturing down the beach a ways. Tobin turns and follows her gaze. There’s a girl, maybe a few years younger than her, but tall and muscular picking her way along the beach, pausing from time to time to pick up stones and add them to the bucket hooked over her arm. “She seems lonely, like you,” her aunt continues. “Go meet her and invite her over. Tell her dinner is at 8, but drinks start at 5.”

“She looks younger than me.”

“We have juice.” Aunt Taylor dismisses the protest with a wave of her hand, as if everything in life was so easy. 

Tobin sighs and considers following her aunt back inside. But, honestly, she doesn’t want to spend the whole summer just staring at waves. A friend might be nice.

She starts down the beach, realizing only when the girl looks up and spots her that it’s probably about ten years since she cold-approached someone and asked them to be friends. And even then, Mrs. Ogletree had to basically push her across the school playground. 

The girl frowns, pausing her steps. She looks on the verge of a fight or flight decision, and Tobin is suddenly aware of how strange this might seem to be approached on a beach. Her mind blanks, but she manages to fumble out, “Hi, my Aunt told me to come talk to you.”

“Your aunt?”

“Yeah, my aunt, Taylor. I’m here visiting her for the summer, she lives over at Holiday House.” Tobin points back down the beach toward the wooden steps leading to the large mansion.

The girl’s eyes go wide as her gaze follows Tobin’s finger. “Your aunt is Mad Woman Taylor?”

Tobin knows that the town doesn’t necessarily approve of her great aunt, but she feels fiercely protective of her. She glares at the stranger in front of her, frustrated, before defending, “Well she’s maybe a little eccentric but she’s not mad, I can tell you that.” She feels her face start to heat up and considers storming away. _Why would her aunt have sent her to meet this girl anyway?_

“Woah! Sorry! I didn’t mean—” the girl splutters. Her face is turning red and her fingers fidget with the bucket in her hand. “I think that’s really cool. She’s so...so...cool,” she finishes lamely. “She seems it anyway.”

Tobin’s anger softens a bit as she watches the girl try to walk back the insult. “She is.” Tobin shuffles awkwardly, unsure about whether she should just walk away.

“Cool,” the girl echoes. “Um, well, I’m Lindsey.”

“Hi Lindsey, I’m Tobin.”

“Tobin?” There’s a hint of a laugh, but Lindsey dials it back quickly. She obviously doesn’t want to offend her again. “Cool. Um, how old are you?”

“Yeah, Tobin Heath. I’m, uh, sixteen. What about you?”

“Fourteen.”

“Oh, cool. So, do you live around here too?”

“We have a summer house up the beach. This is our, like, fifth summer here. I think? Anyway it’s pretty chill. The beach right here, plenty of sunbathing, plus there’s an okay summer soccer league, so...Sorry. I’m talking a lot.”

Tobin’s face lights up at the mention of soccer. Maybe her aunt’s instincts were right after all. “Dude, I love soccer! You play in the league up in town? I was thinking of joining but I didn’t know if it was any good.” 

“Yeah! I play! We’re good! Well, I mean not great. We honestly need a quality striker and our back line is kinda weak, but like it’s fun and competitive so…” Lindsey fades out and bites her lip. She’s still fidgeting with her bucket of rocks. “What position do you play?”

“A little of this, a little of that. I feel mostly like I’m a midfielder but my coach has moved me around a lot. Last season she had me up on the right wing. What about you?”

“Center mid. Coaches like to make sure I’m in the fray for set pieces ‘cause, you know, tall.” She gestures to herself, her cheeks flushing in another blush. 

“Yeah. I didn’t realize how tall you were from far away, but you’ve got like…” Tobin steps back comparing their respective heights “a few inches on me even though you’re two years younger. I think you’re, like, taller than most of the people on my team. So, we’d be in the same age group, right? High school? So we’d maybe even be on the same team?”

“Yeah! Are you coming to tryouts? Some of the girls are kind of...Well, it would be nice to have someone serious about soccer. Hey! We should practice together!”

“We totally should! That would be fun. I haven’t played with anyone else in a month or so, so it would be really great to get back into it a bit before trying to play in a league. Oh, hey! My aunt said to invite you over for dinner. Are you doing anything tonight? If not, maybe you could come kick around and then have some dinner? My aunt serves super delicious food.”

“Yeah! That sounds awesome! Do you watch Premier League? Who’s your favorite team? Oh, I should probably go check with my parents. But I mean we never really have plans, so I can’t imagine it’ll be a problem.”

“Dope. I do watch Premier League! Arsenal is my team. Undefeated this season, baby! Tell me you’re not a Chelsea fan.”

* * *

#### Who knows, if she never showed up, what could've been

* * *

“So, he’s standing there on his balcony positively screaming over the hedge ‘YOU DYED MUFFY LIME GREEN!’ and I, for my part, am doing my absolute best impression of a proper lady. I have the back of my hand on my forehead and I am feigning ignorance and indignation as I shout back, ‘Well, I never! I would not dare hurt a poor defenseless animal over what his bastard owner did to my dance space.’” Aunt Taylor is beaming as she recounts yet another tale from her earliest years in Holiday House. Lindsey and Tobin stare across the table at her, absolutely enraptured, giggling genuinely as Aunt Taylor becomes more animated with each word. “And I swear to you he yells back, ‘You are the maddest woman this town has ever seen.’ I was so amused by the accusation I could not stop myself from laughing at him. I could not stop telling people the story and all of my girlfriends started joking that I was ‘Mad Woman Taylor,’ and eventually the moniker stuck. The dog was okay, of course! The dye was washable and I even gave her a very nice rawhide as a treat for being so patient.”

Lindsey is leaning back in her chair, shaking she’s laughing so hard. “Mrs. Harkness, you’re hilarious!” 

“Mrs. Harkness? Goodness, child, no need to be so formal. Taylor is fine! You can even throw ‘Mad Woman’ in if you want,” she adds with a wink. 

Tobin laughs. 

“You know, you two might just need to be named honorary members of the Bitch Pack.”

“The what?” Tobin asks, still giggling. 

“My friends, darling!” Aunt Taylor declares, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And now,” she lowers her voice and leans towards them a little conspiratorially, “that includes the two of you!”

She throws her head back and laughs in this infectious way, and Tobin and Lindsey both find themselves laughing along, exchanging glances of their own. Despite the name, Tobin feels like it’s an honor to be included in that group. The friends of her aunt’s that she’s already met, she’s enjoyed, each one as lavish and eccentric as her aunt. 

“Well, now, you two young people don’t want to hear an old lady like me go on and on. Besides, my glass is far too empty, and I feel an after-dinner cocktail coming on. You two go and play. Shoo! Go be young and free!” She dismisses them with a wave despite their protests. 

Tobin leads Lindsey out to the back porch where they sit in two adirondack chairs still smiling as they think about Aunt Taylor’s stories. The salty air is much cooler at night than it is during the daytime and it’s quiet enough that they can hear the waves crashing against the shore. Tobin pulls on a cardigan she brought outside with her as she laughs and says, “I told you she was cool!” 

“Super cool,” Lindsey agrees. 

The moonlight threads white light along the waves, bobbing and weaving with the sway of the water. The two sit in a comfortable silence for a moment before Lindsey eventually speaks. 

“This is gonna sound really stupid, but I feel like I’ve known you way longer than a day.”

“I know, right? It’s like we’ve been friends forever already. I feel like we just get each other, dude. We have so much in common.”

“Soccer, Arsenal, Messi…”

“I don’t think I think he’s as hot as you think he is,” Tobin counters with a laugh. 

“Fine, well then who do you think is hotter than him?” 

Tobin opens and closes her mouth as she racks her brain for a suitable response. Player after player flits through her mind, but she’s not sure she’d call any of them “hot”. “Umm...I don’t know. But nobody’s footwork matches Ronaldinho’s.”

“Okay, I can’t argue that,” Lindsey agrees. 

Tobin feels a bit uncomfortable still. She thinks about all of the boys on the soccer team at school and searches for some way to respond to Lindsey. “There is this one guy on the soccer team at my school, Scott, who’s kinda cute, I guess.”

“Ooooh. Is he your boyfriend?”

Tobin chokes on the implication. “No, we’re just friends. We go to church together. I don’t think I’m his type or anything.” She smiles shyly at the ground, not even knowing why she would bring him up. “What about you? Do you have a boyfriend back home?”

“What? No. Um. No. I mean, my parents aren’t so big on me dating yet anyway. I mean there are guys who are cute, obviously. It’s just...Well, none of them measure up to Messi anyway.” Lindsey’s laugh is uncomfortable and her cheeks are flushed and for a split second Tobin wonders…

But she doesn’t dare wonder longer than that, shoving the thought away, shoving the question it raises about herself down. 

“Well, I hope one day you find your Messi.”

Lindsey laughs. “Thanks. So anyway, tell me more about your team back home. You said you’re friends with your keeper, right? Ash? And your bestie is on the team?”

“Yeah, Ash is super cool. She’s got this like badass vibe and just cruises around doing whatever she wants. Super confident. And Christen yeah. She’s...She’s...A fucking amazing striker, dude. Like if the league here needs one it’s a shame she’s not here because she’s so good. Like so good on the ball. And then she’s also just like…” Tobin fumbles for words. She’s saying too much, and she knows it, but she can’t stop herself. “She’s just really dope. I think you two would get along. She’s like so smart and funny. I wish she was here this summer. I’ve tried calling a couple of times but she can only really talk on nights and weekends because of her phone plan, and Aunt Taylor has been keeping me busy. But, yeah…” She feels her cheeks flush, self conscious at the flood of words, and now that she’s talking about her, thinking about her, she feels an ache in the pit of her chest, a longing of sorts. She misses her best friend. That’s all. 

Lindsey studies her a bit as Tobin stares out toward the ocean. Tobin can feel her stare but doesn't dare look back. She shifts in her chair a bit waiting for Lindsey to respond. It feels like an eternity before she finally hears, “She sounds cool, T."

“Yeah. She is.” She suddenly can’t wait to change the subject, to talk about anything or anyone else. “What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream? Aunt Taylor has an entire freezer full of different flavors. It’s like living in an ice cream parlor. Wanna go get some?”

“Oh my God, really? Is there Mint Chocolate Chip?”

“Of course!”


	2. seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobin and Lindsey's coach is a jerk, they tell the truth, and Tobin's summer with Aunt Taylor comes to an end.

#### Passed down like folk songs  
The love lasts so long

* * *

Tobin doesn’t know what makes her look back to the field after she’s done in the locker room and heading home. Or maybe she does. Lindsey’s presence is easy to miss, although for someone so tall, so good on the ball, she’s been making herself smaller and smaller as the weeks go on. Lindsey’s steps are tired as she pushes on, running laps around the field. 

Tobin’s clean, fresh from the shower, but she can’t let this go on. Not like this. She drops her bag and jogs back out to the field, falling easily into step beside Lindsey as she makes her way around the far goalpost. 

“What’re you doing, T? You don’t need the extra practice. You’re starting every game.”

“And you should be starting every game. You’re better on the pitch than anyone coach has starting over you. Even me most of the time.”

Lindsey lets out a bitter laugh. “That’s not true. Your footwork is - You’re going somewhere, Tobin. Like football is gonna take you places. Me? I’m- I mean coach said it, right? I’m never gonna make the National Team. You probably will.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Linds. He’s a summer coach for a rec league in Rhode Island. If we had you on the field we’d be dominating this season, but instead we’re drawing like every other match we play. We need your height out there, you tower over some of these other girls and would be scoring on every set piece if he just gave you a damn chance. You have to see it. I know you know you’re better than these other people. He’s just…” she ponders for a moment what excuse their coach could possibly have for benching Lindsey. She knows that she’s not lying to just comfort her friend who’s been benched; Lindsey really is better than almost everyone else on the team in so many ways. She’s powerful and accurate, and she works harder than most. “He must just be blind if he doesn’t see how good you are. Maybe he’s just trying to give some of the older players a chance to improve or something.”

Lindsey trips, stumbles, stops. Tobin comes to a stop too, and it’s then that she notices the way that Lindsey is sniffling, sees the tears starting to trickle down her cheeks. “Linds?” She’s opening her arms instinctively and Lindsey’s stepping into her, hands coming up to cover her face as the tears begin to fall more freely. 

“He says I’m too fat. That I need to lose weight to start. That I need to look better to be better. That -”

Her sobs cut her short and Tobin wraps her a little tighter in a hug. “What the fuck?” falls angrily from her lips, half to herself and half to Lindsey. She can feel rage boiling just beneath the surface. How dare he? What gives him the right? “He’s wrong, Lindsey. He’s so, SO wrong. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

* * *

They sit high on the rocks above the quarry, staring down into the blue-green water. The air is more humid here than out by the ocean. It’s the sort of thick heat that makes their clothes cling to their bodies. They’re hidden in a patch of trees so much so that the boys cliff-jumping down the way are totally unaware that there is anyone else in earshot. 

They’d first found this spot a few weeks ago when they met the team out one night to celebrate a win. Since then, Tobin and Lindsey have returned here regularly when they need respite from the world. It’s the kind of place where they can feel isolated and able to speak freely. It’s the kind of place where you can tell secrets and know that they’ll be kept. A hideout of sorts. 

“You HAVE to know he’s wrong, Linds.”

Lindsey sighs heavily. The tears have stopped, but her eyes are still rimmed red and she looks drained. “Is he?”

“YES!” 

“I don’t know, Tobs. Everything is just so...So messed up. I thought - And then there was - And he said - And then Mel -”

“Mel what?”

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.” Tobin pokes Lindsey gently in the side. When that doesn’t work, she pulls a face and Lindsey cracks the tiniest hint of a smile. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Lindsey’s eyes search the glimmering water far below, speckled with flecks of sunlight. She wraps her arms tightly around her knees, and it’s as if Tobin can physically see her withdrawing into herself. 

“Lindsey?” 

She puts her chin on her knees, hugging them tight and mumbles, “She called me a dyke,” as she turns her face away from Tobin. 

The words hit hard, making Tobin’s blood run cold. It feels like a smack in the face, and the way that Lindsey is responding to them - 

She takes a deep breath. “And that’s...bad?” Of course it’s bad. That’s what the pastor said. Same sex attraction is a sin. 

Except -

She shakes her head as if to shake the thoughts out. The same ones that have been plaguing her all summer. The same ones that followed her on the train from home, that paced behind her on the soccer pitch at school. The same ones that tease at the edge of her consciousness when it’s just her and Christen, lying under the stars on the roof over Christen’s garage, talking about everything and nothing. 

Lindsey buries her face into her legs, knees pressing against her eyes, fingers clasped tightly together. “It’s bad because…” She lifts her head, just a little, and Tobin can see the deep breath she inhales before she breathes out the words, “because I think maybe it’s true.” 

As soon as Lindsey says it, Tobin feels a sense of overwhelming relief. It feels like she’s been waiting to admit it to herself for ages, and now Lindsey, two years younger, is being so much braver. 

Lindsey’s said the silent thing out loud. The thing girls like Tobin will only question in the deepest quiet of their own minds. She feels an admission bubbling up inside her, barreling up her throat. 

“Me too,” she whispers, voice wavering. 

Lindsey looks at her and bursts into tears once more and it takes Tobin a moment to realize that Lindsey has interpreted her words wrong. 

“I mean I am too. Not just you. Me too. Lindsey, I think I’m gay!” The words are blurted out so forcefully, so unexpectedly that her eyes go wide and her heart feels like it stops in her chest. The air hangs heavy and still between them as Lindsey’s expression changes, her mouth opens, and Tobin isn’t sure that she wants to hear the response, isn’t sure she wants to know what Lindsey is about to say. 

“Oh.” 

And Tobin is able to breathe out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. 

“Okay.”

In. Out. “Okay,” she echoes. 

And then the laughter starts. A slight giggle at first, and then it builds, passing between them, until their entire bodies are shaking and they’re gasping for breath, splayed back on the ground, sunlight filtering down through the leaves of the trees to dance across their skin. 

Tobin lets out a long sigh, the smile on her face wide and free. She laughs again, shorter, less full-bodied. “Wow. I’m gay.”

“We’re gay,” Lindsey corrects. “But not like...for each other.”

“No. Oh, God, no. We’re. You’re like...you’re like a little sister to me.” 

“Oh thank God. You’re like a BIG sister to ME, so it would’ve been so awkward if -”

Tobin laughs again, shaking her head vigorously. She looks up at the leaves swaying in the cool breeze that’s picked up. 

“More awkward than me randomly walking up to you at the beach and telling you my Great Aunt told me to invite you to dinner?”

Lindsey chuckles. “Point. But look what came out of that.”

Tobin snorts. She’s sure Lindsey didn’t mean to phrase it that way, but she can’t help it when she says, “Apparently we did.”

Lindsey looks at her puzzled for a moment and then it clicks for her too and they’re off laughing again, Lindsey giving her a playful shove. 

* * *

The summer is freer after that day. They can’t quite explain how; it’s not as though everything changes. Their coach is still an ass to Lindsey, although she does get some starts after Tobin starts loudly complaining about how her corner kicks would go in if there was someone tall enough to head them in. They still feel unsure about what is in store at the end of their summer on the coast, but admitting that fundamental truth changes everything in slight and imperceptible ways. It is as though a fog has lifted around them and everything is just easier. It feels like nothing Tobin has experienced before; it is truly peaceful not to be haunted by ghosts. 

As the summer wanes, they joke about stealing a boat and running away to a town somewhere where they can just be themselves forever. But even as they laugh and plot their course into the ocean on an old nautical map in Aunt Taylor’s house, they can feel the time slipping. It won’t be long until they have to leave their perfect bubble of trust and acceptance and talking openly about all of the prettiest girls in town. To Tobin, it feels like they’re sailing back into a fog. 

Each day it becomes more obvious to her. She starts letter after letter to tell Christen, but she can’t work up the nerve she found in the quarry that day. _What if Christen reads it and never wants to see her again?_ Her resolve dwindles until she finally burns them all the day before she’s due to depart for home. It’s after dinner, and she’s said goodbye to Lindsey. They exchanged addresses, phone numbers, and promises to keep in touch. Tobin tells Lindsey she knows she’ll see her in just a few years when they get called up to the national team. Tobin had been incredibly sad to see Lindsey go, but she knows that their bond is so much bigger than the summer. They’ll be friends for the rest of their lives.

* * *

“Tobin, I don’t think the fire needs any more kindling.” Aunt Taylor’s voice carries from the top of the steps on the back porch out toward the fire pit. 

“I just want to make sure it’s still going for s’mores. It’s my last night! They have to be perfect,” Tobin lies. 

Aunt Taylor walks down the steps to join Tobin at the fire pit. “Tobin, as someone who has a lot of experience with pining and broken hearts, I can tell you that I recognize when someone is burning all of their love letters. It’s in how they let the paper leave their fingertips—like they are letting go of their most fragile hopes.”

Tobin sighs deeply. This has become a bit of a routine for them over the summer: Aunt Taylor calling Tobin on her bullshit; somehow cutting through to ask directly about what is going on in her head.

Aunt Taylor continues, “So who's the unlucky girl who will never get to see these?”

Tobin chokes audibly on the air. “Wha— how did you?”

“Tobin, darling, you and Lindsey are not as sly as you think you are trying to talk in code about your crushes. I may be old, but I still have ears and a brain.”

“How— how long have you— when did you figure it out?”

“Tobin, it’s been at least a month, but it’s not like I had no earthly idea before that. I am an observant woman.”

Tobin sits slack jawed for a mintue before she starts to consider the implications of her aunt knowing she’s gay. Her head is spinning considering the possibility of what Aunt Taylor must think of her. It’s not like she’s shown herself to be particularly religious, but Tobin knows how she was raised, how they were raised. That much hasn’t changed between the generations. What must she think? And what if she’s told her mother. Or, even worse, her father. She stares into the flames in front of her, spiraling with anxiety. “Aunt Taylor?” she finally chokes out.

“Yes, Tobin?” 

“Did you—? Does—? Do my parents know?” She keeps her eyes fixed on the fire, afraid to look Aunt Taylor in the eyes. She feels her shift closer around the fire and, as she has done so many times before that summer, take Tobin’s face in her hand and direct her gaze into her piercing blue eyes. 

“Darling, do you really think I would tell your parents something you haven’t even properly told me? Something that is not mine to tell? I might be a mad woman, but I am not a gossip. Particularly about my Bitch Pack.” She stares sincerely into Tobin’s eyes.

“I guess not, Aunt Taylor. I’m sorry.” Tobin feels tears pricking the corners of her eyes. She’s never really felt comfortable being herself around many adults, particularly not those Aunt Taylor’s age. But this summer, she’s been more herself than she has been in—maybe ever. And, this whole time, her aunt knew her—really knew her—and she never felt even slightly uncomfortable. She finds herself rushing into her Great Aunt’s arms, her body crumpling under the weight of passive acceptance. She lets herself be held.

“Tobin?” Aunt Taylor whispers softly in her ear. Tobin hums a questioning tone. “I’m glad you’re here.” 

For the first time in a long time, Tobin realizes that she’s glad she’s there too.


	3. august

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily’s new to town, new to school, but at least she has soccer. If only she hadn’t instantly become completely smitten with the most beautiful girl she’s ever seen (who happens to be her teammate).

#### But I can see us lost in the memory  
August slipped away into a moment in time  
'Cause you were never mine

* * *

Emily’s never seen someone so beautiful before. Not once in her life. And the fact that she’s a junior, at her new school, on her varsity soccer team? Emily’s not sure she’s going to remember how to function. 

Not in these early days of long practices before the school year even starts. Not in the hours spent in the weight room, watching her muscles ripple. Definitely not when she shoots that brilliant smile Emily’s way, pale green eyes dazzling in the afternoon sun, and says, “Nice work, Sonnett.” 

And she hears her mouth ask, “Could you, um...would you mind staying after to show me -” She gestures vaguely towards the goal. 

“How I curve it in?” Christen suggests, and Emily nods. Whatever Christen had supplied she would have nodded. Christen’s smile is wide (and maybe a little knowing) and Emily’s stomach flips as Christen says, “Yeah! Sure!” 

* * *

“You’re gay, right?” 

The words catch her so off-guard that she actually falls over, foot falling too heavily on the top of the ball and gravity taking her down the rest of the way. 

Christen’s giggle sounds like music as she extends a hand and says, “Are you okay?”

Emily’s skin burns at the contact as she takes Christen’s offered hand, and she blurts, “Yes. Gay. I mean, okay. And- and gay, too. Um, yeah.” 

Christen’s eyes dance in the golden-hour light, so bright they’re practically glowing, and she bites her lip as she smiles, and Emily is so enraptured it takes her a minute to realize they’re still holding hands now she’s back on her feet. She almost flinches as Christen raises her other hand and picks a piece of grass out of her hair. 

“Me, too.” 

She’s sure it’s not the most attractive she’s ever looked, her mouth hanging open, dirt stuck to her knees, sweat plastering hair to her forehead, but Christen giggles again and flashes that smile anyway. 

“You- You are?” she stammers as Christen steps back, their hands dropping between them. 

“I know you’ve heard the rumors, Em. You’ve been here like a month now, and my fling with Vero was not a very well-kept secret. You don’t have to look so surprised.”

Emily feels her cheeks flush. “I wasn’t - I didn’t - Rumors aren’t always true.”

Christen shrugs, steals the ball from Emily’s feet and kicks it into the upper right corner of the goal. “That one was,” she replies. 

“How did you know that I…?”

Christen’s smile gleams, morphs into a smirk. “The way you stare at me,” she replies with a wink, and then she’s off across the grass, chasing down the ball, and Emily is left standing there, cheeks burning, mouth agape, wondering when exactly the rug had been pulled out from beneath her, because she’s not quite sure how long she’s been falling already. 

* * *

They flirt more when Christen’s drunk, and Emily tries not to notice. She tries not to notice the way that she calls her “Sonny” on the field and “Em” in the back corner of Crystal’s yard, hidden by shadows, sides pressed far too tight together as Emily cracks jokes and Christen laughs, her hand on Emily’s bare thigh, her thumb rubbing faintly at her sticky skin. 

(She tries so hard not to notice the way that Tobin comes up in conversation more often than not, the way that Christen reacts when she’s mentioned, the way that she can tell, there’s something there. She thinks she might hate Tobin and she hasn’t even met her yet.)

She tries and she tries because she wants. She wants Christen, wants to know what those lips would feel like pressed to hers, what it might be like to loop her arm through Christen’s at practice, to call her “my girlfriend”. She wants and she wonders, but she doesn’t act. 

Well-

She leans in closer, lets her eyes linger. She cracks another joke just to make Christen laugh, just to catch a glimpse of that smile. 

She jumps when her phone rings, every time, and then when it’s her—when it’s Christen on the other end of the line, she says, “Yes,” before she’s even heard the question. 

She doesn’t act except that when Christen pulls up she jumps in without hesitation and doesn’t even bother to ask where they’re headed. Christen’s eyes stare out the windshield, but Emily feels the sun on her face and flicks tentative glances towards Christen. She takes in the sunshine on her flawless face. She takes in the way her hand is left on the gearshift between them. 

She doesn’t act except that she moves her hand closer, inch by inch, until Christen’s pinky stretches out, strokes hers, and Christen flashes her a smile, turns the music up, and as she starts to sing along like nobody is watching at all, puts her hand back down on top of Emily’s. 

* * *

August is drawing to an end and Tobin walks into practice, all lanky toned limbs and tanned skin and easy smiles. 

August is drawing to an end and Emily sees the way that Christen lights up around Tobin, the way that Christen holds Tobin closer longer when they hug, the way that Emily’s phone doesn’t ring quite as much anymore. 

August is drawing to an end and Emily can feel whatever might have been, this thing that she’d hoped was building between them, slipping away. 


	4. cardigan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobin's back from her summer away, but everything didn't stay the same while she was gone, and she's in for some surprises at an end of summer party.

#### But I knew you  
Dancin' in your Levi's  
Drunk under a streetlight, I  
I knew you  
Hand under my sweatshirt  
Baby, kiss it better

* * *

She hasn’t been back in town more than five hours when Tobin’s new razr phone—a parting gift from Aunt Taylor to help her “keep in touch”—lights up with an envelope icon indicating a text from an unsaved number. 

“I hear youre back and entered the 21st century -Chris”

She’s not sure how Christen got her number so quickly, but she’s certainly not complaining. Just seeing a message from Christen makes her heart flutter. She has so much to say, so much to tell Christen, so much she wants to hear about from her. She’s missed her so much. More than, maybe, she’d care to admit.

And that -

That makes her a little anxious. She’s not sure she’s ready to to Christen that she’s—well, you know—gay. 

She texts back:

“all grown up i guess! Call me after 7?”

She saves the number in her phone as “Chris Cell” and sets it down on the bed to finish unpacking everything. The last thing she pulls out of her suitcase is her favorite blue cardigan. She pulls it up to her face and inhales it, taking in the scent of Aunt Taylor’s house; of what became her home. 

Her phone dings with another message from Christen: “Crystals having an end of summer party for juniors and seniors tonight. You down? Meet me there at 9?”

A twinge of disappointment strikes her. A party? She can’t - she couldn’t - Not there. Even if she wanted to, there’s no way she would where other people could overhear. Telling Christen would be one thing, but having others know? No. 

And then there’s the niggling thought that maybe Christen isn’t as excited to see her as she is to see Christen. Maybe she hasn’t really missed her that much. 

She shakes the thought off, puts on a smile, tells herself she’s not really disappointed at all. It’ll be good to see everyone. 

She hustles downstairs and asks her parents for permission to attend the party, promising to be up and ready to go to church the next morning.

“c u there.”

* * *

It’s just a party. 

Around her her friends are joking, laughing, playing drinking games. Just like they always have. There’s a fire in the firepit outside, just like always, that people cycle through, the scent of flames lingering in their hair and on their clothes as they make their way back inside. 

Everything is the same, everything is so familiar, and yet, Tobin feels different there, like maybe she occupies a different space here now. Her whole body feels on edge, as if she’s waiting for something. 

She’s nursing a Smirnoff Ice and telling a teammate a (maybe slightly embellished) story about a backheel goal she scored in a game this summer when she sees her: the person she’s really been waiting for, the one who hasn’t left her thoughts for a moment all summer. 

Tobin stops mid-sentence and stares. She can hear her friend snicker beside her, but she can’t be bothered to care. There, in the doorway is Christen Press, looking more stunning than ever. She’s in tight jeans and an oversized shirt and she looks like she does in every dream Tobin had of her all summer. Tobin doesn’t breathe, she doesn’t dare. She’s not sure it’s physically possible with the way that just the sight of Christen has pushed all of the air out of her lungs. 

And then Christen’s grey-green eyes meet hers across the room, her face lights up and she pushes past other people greeting her to come straight to Tobin and for an instant she lets herself wish that it’s for the same reasons she can’t wait to see her, to hug her (to hold her and never ever let go). 

Christen’s body is warm and she smells like cocoa butter and vanilla and home in a way that Tobin didn’t expect, and her arms squeeze so tight that every nerve ending in Tobin’s body springs to life, humming just from proximity to her. Tobin squeezes back just as tight on impulse, lifts her up, spins her around before her brain can think about how it might look, what it might mean, what she might let on before she’s ready. 

Christen’s giggle in her ear makes it worth the risk. 

“Hi, Tobes.” Christen says, amused, as Tobin sets her down. 

“Hey, Chris,” Tobin replies, unable to tear her eyes away from Christen’s face, from bright eyes and a familiar smile, from freckled cheeks and a jawline that could cut glass. 

“You’re so tan!” Christen declares. 

Tobin looks down at herself, then back up. “Yeah, I guess summer at the beach will do that.” 

“Oh my God, I’m SO jealous! You have to tell me all about it, Tobes! Tell me everything!” There’s Christen’s hand hot on her arm and Christen’s smile staring back at her and she feels the familiar butterflies, the ones that she’s always pushed down before now, that she’s never let herself think mean -

But they do. They DO mean, and she needs to be careful, but still, Christen is there and touching her and smiling at her, so she says, “Okay, but first you tell me all about your summer!” 

* * *

They don’t end up catching up. Not right away. Not as the night stretches on. There are so many people to see, to say hi to, to catch up, and so often they’re pulled into separate conversations. Still, though, they spend most of the night glued to each other’s sides. Maybe it’s obvious. Maybe she’s giving herself away too much, but she just can’t stray too far from Christen. Even when they are apart, Tobin still has a sense of where Christen is in the room—like her energy is magnetic, drawing her in. 

Around 11:30 Tobin finds herself a few drinks in, leaning against the wall for support. Christen’s disappeared off to the bathroom and she’s taking a moment just to breathe properly for what feels like the first time in hours. 

She feels a body slide up next to her, and glances over to find her friend Ashlyn shooting her an easy smile. “Crazy how so much can change over a summer, right?”

“Huh, yeah,” Tobin hums, still buzzing from Christen’s presence. The room is a bit foggy, her thoughts a little slow. Maybe a glass of water wouldn’t be a bad idea. 

“I can’t believe she’s gay. The gods have blessed the lesbians.”

Tobin’s gaze snaps immediately toward Ashlyn as she stammers out, “Wh—what did you say?” Just like that she feels ten times more sober, her mind reeling from the words. 

“What do you mean?” Ashlyn offers a confused look. “I thought she’d told you, right?”

“Told me what?”

“She became the school’s most eligible lesbian this summer. She was hooking up with Vero, like, half the summer and then had some fling with one of the new freshmen on the team, I think. I can’t believe she didn’t tell you. You two are like best friends.”

“Yeah, we are.” Tobin offers softly, wondering why she’s hearing something like this about Christen from someone who is not Christen. Maybe it’s just a silly rumor. But if it’s not, if there’s the possibility that she’s -

And what if she knows then, if she’s worked it out already? Her eyes flick to Ash’s face. She’s gay. She’s been out forever. She’s...safe, Tobin decides. 

“I’m gay, too.” The words are breathed out, barely above a whisper. This is take two, the second person she’s officially said the words to, and it’s not who she imagined it would be. 

Ashlyn smiles broadly at Tobin. “Dude, ya think?”

“What?” Tobin looks at her sheepishly. “What do you mean? Did you already know that?”

“I figured, bud. You stare at Christen like she hung the fucking moon. I figured after watching you two tonight that you were together or something.”

“I wish, Ash,” Tobin mumbles before she can stop herself. The words are too much, too true. 

Ashlyn opens her mouth to speak again, but Tobin cuts her off abruptly, her eyes wide and fixed over Ashlyn’s shoulder. “Yeah and like my aunt was like so dope. She’d let me do whatever I wanted and like let me have people over all the time. Lindsey and I like never had to be in from the beach at a certain time or anything.”

“Hey, Ash.” Christen says, joining their group on the other side of Tobin, and sliding her arm around Tobin’s waist. Tobin feels her pulse quicken. Suddenly their closeness is imbued with a different meaning. She needs to talk to Christen, to find out if the rumors are true, to tell Christen all about her summer in Rhode Island, to tell her...to tell her everything, maybe. Suddenly the party feels stifling and she urgently needs to be alone with Christen. She gives Ashlyn a meaningful look before she turns to Christen and asks softly, “Chris, could we go somewhere? I feel like I haven’t really had a chance to talk to you all night and I guess I—”

Christen cuts her off, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Ashlyn looks between them before taking out her phone, winking, and saying, “Sorry I’m getting a call.” She walks off clearly talking to nobody, but if Christen notices, she doesn’t say so. 

Christen’s fingers thread through hers, warm and a little wet from being washed, and Tobin feels like she’s being led away from more than the party as she’s practically dragged out the back door, through the back gate, onto the cobblestone street next to Crystal’s house. Tobin stares down at their enjoined hands, chills radiating up her arm. The faint sound of music from the party carries through the air and Christen pulls her fingers out of Tobin’s hand, dancing away. 

Tobin watches as if time has slowed down, her fingers still reaching out for Christen’s absent hand for a second. Two. And then she remembers to drop it to her side. 

She should definitely have had that water, she thinks, as she leans back, looking for support. She finds it, back against the brick wall of the neighbor’s house, eyes following as Christen spins a slow circle around the sole streetlight, grin flashing back at Tobin. Her giggle is like music on the air, and then she’s reaching out again, arm outstretched. 

“Dance with me, Tobes?” she implores, laughing and grinning as she spins around in the glow of a street lamp, hips swaying gently as she dances closer. 

Tobin swallows thickly as she watches Christen dance in front of her— _God, what a beautiful sight._ She closes her eyes for a moment, trying to will her slightly foggy brain to store the moment in her memory.

Before she opens her eyes again she hears Christen say, “Tobin?” Christen’s hand slides around her hip, burning hot where it grazes along the waistline of her jeans. Christen pulls her close. “Come on! Dance with me!” 

It’s all so overwhelming. 

Tobin opens her eyes as Christen takes her right hand, pulls it over Tobin’s head, and leads her into a spin. She tries to follow, but the combination of Smirnoff Ice and uneven footing send her tumbling, eyes wide, mouth open, scrambling to reestablish her footing. Christen tries to catch her, grabbing her by the waist, but Tobin’s momentum pulls them both down with a hard thud. 

There’s a stab of pain in her hip as she makes contact with the ground, but it’s instantly forgotten when the realization that Christen is splayed out on top of her, pressing into her, so many points of contact between them. It’s - It feels -

And then the contact is gone, as Christen rolls off of her, apology already falling from her lips as she sits on the street beside her, legs splayed out in front of her. “Oh God, Tobin, I’m so sorry are you okay?”

Tobin looks shocked at first, but when she opens her mouth to assure Christen she is fine, she starts to laugh. “I’m fine. I guess I am just a little tipsy. Get it?” She laughs a little harder at her own poor excuse for a joke and sighs, letting her head fall back down against the bricks. 

She’s aware of Christen laying down and leaning into her. She’s laughing too, but at her joke or just at her, Tobin can’t be sure. 

But when Christen puts her hand on Tobin’s stomach the laugher dies almost instantly in her throat and she inhales sharply. Christen’s laughter becomes softer as she runs her hand across Tobin’s stomach. Tobin can feel Christen’s eyes tracing over her body, the air around them shifting abruptly.

Her mind is racing. _Should she turn away? Is now the right time to tell her? Could she just show her?_

Christen jolts up suddenly from the pavement, steadying herself on her forearm as she exclaims “Oh, God, Tobin. You’re bleeding!” 

She pushes up Tobin’s shirt, just above her waistband, to reveal a scrape on Tobin’s hip. Tobin pats the scrape with her fingers, draws them close to her face, and studies them carefully. They reveal only a tiny amount of blood. “It’s not too bad, Chris. It’s not really bleeding that much. No big deal.” She places her fingers over the scrape again, feeling around to see how much it hurts, trying to gauge how badly it’s apt to bruise. 

When she withdraws her fingers again she feels Christen’s thumb pulling down at her waistband and looks over to see Christen moving close to her hip, inspecting the wound. She is about to try to assure her that everything is fine once again when she sees Christen moving in closer and feels her lips on the skin just below the scrape. 

Her lips are soft and delicate and the kiss is light. Tobin feels it shoot directly through her. Christen places another kiss next to the scrape, this one a little firmer, and Tobin can’t breathe. Her heart is pounding in her ears. When Christen parts her lips and lowers her head a third time, there is a hint of teeth and tongue. The whole thing is too much. She gasps at the contact, balling her hands into fists, unsure whether she’s allowed to touch or not. She blurts out, “Fuck, Chris...I’m gay!” The words seem to echo around the small street, the music from the party having faded into nothingness. 

Christen moves up her body, hovering above Tobin, gazing down at her, eyes boring into her, so kind, so familiar, and yet... 

They stay there in silence, captured in this moment where it is just the two of them and nothing moves, nothing else exists, just their breathing in and out. Tobin searches Christen’s face for any reaction, her eyes pleading, but she can’t seem to read Christen’s mind. It feels like eternity of time passes as Tobin waits for Christen to react, to speak, to do anything. Finally she breathes out, “Me too,” and dips her head down, ghosting her lips across Tobin’s, the barest hint of pressure. It’s too little and too much all at the same time, but Tobin’s body reacts before her mind can think things through.

Tobin tilts her head up, captures Christen’s lips with hers. It feels like as much of an admission as her words a moment before. Her hands find Christen’s cheeks, drawing her in, and Christen presses in further. That feels like an admission, too. 

It’s tender and soft and a little tentative as their lips begin to move against one another, and then it’s not at all. 

Christen’s body is hot and heavy, pushing her into the cobblestone street, and Tobin pulls her in, wants more, arms wrapping tightly around Christen’s waist, palms flat across the curve of her spine. 

There’s a gasp, but Tobin’s not sure if it’s from her or Christen. It feels as if they’re melding into one. Christen’s fist balls in her shirt, her lips, her tongue, demanding yet sweet. 

Tobin gets lost in the moment, in them, in the kiss. She gets lost in the smell of the campfire lingering in Christen’s hair, in the sweet taste of her chapstick, in the feeling of the pad of her thumb rubbing over her stomach. She gets lost in the way Christen moans into the kiss, the way she can’t help pushing up to meet Christen’s every touch, to force their bodies closer as if nothing will ever be enough. 

This kiss feels like everything all at once, and all Tobin knows is that she’ll never be the same again. Later she’ll need to deal with this, to think things through, but for now she just wants to keep kissing Christen forever. 

* * *

**When you are young, they assume you know nothing**

* * *

The end of summer feels like a fog descending slowly until one day she’s unable to clearly see anything around her. Still, despite its creep, the result feels violent and it takes her by surprise.

She and Christen aren’t _together_ together; there isn’t anything official. But Tobin, for her part, isn’t looking at anyone else. She tries not to think of the time they spend alone together as “dates.” She tries to tell herself they can still be best friends if nothing works out. But then they’re in her room after practice one day and Christen is kissing her and pushing her against the bed, and she wants to ask what they are and if they can be more. She wants to make them something more. 

She doesn’t let herself ask. She can’t. Not until her family knows. Not until she can really be Christen’s.

But then, it’s the Sunday before school starts and she’s at youth group at church and Scott is asking her to the homecoming dance and she’s frozen like a deer in headlights. She’s feeling like she can’t keep standing, much less breathe, and all of his friends are looking at them, and she’s stammering “yes” and feeling sick to her stomach.

She texts Christen that evening. “Scott asked me to homecoming. I said yes.” She’s worried it might upset Christen. She’s worried Christen might not care at all.

All she gets back is, “He’s cute!” two hours later. Christen doesn’t care.

She thinks about a dozen responses, but none of them seem right. She settles on, “I guess,” and that’s the last thing she hears from Christen for at least three days. 

And then everything shifts. Nothing is the same. There’s a tension between them when they see each other. Christen shies away from her touch. She stops asking Tobin for rides home from practice. 

And then during the first week of school Tobin sees Christen in the locker room flirting with one of the freshman girls: Emily. 

It all feels like it happens so fast: they shift from having potential, from the possibility of something great, to awkward and distant. 

She wants to scream and beg and ask, but she just lets it happen. She lets inertia pull her away from Christen, from any hope of “us” they briefly had. When her parents assume she’s dating Scott, she doesn’t correct them. 

She buys a dress and shoes and chips in for a limo with the other kids from church. She agrees to go to the _stupid_ Olive Garden before the dance when she knows all of the soccer girls are going to Maccaroni Grill. She lets Scott pay for her dinner. She lets him hold her waist in pictures. And when her favorite song comes on—the one that was playing when Christen danced under the streetlight—she only lets her eyes roam the gym for a few seconds before she takes Scott’s offered hand and dances with him.


	5. betty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobin cracked it, but Christen breaks it. Dances and rumors and a countdown to a New Year.

#### I'm only seventeen, I don't know anything  
But I know I miss you

* * *

It’s the last day of the summer of her metamorphosis. She entered feeling shy and unsure and emerged light and easy; fully herself. 

She’s falling for her best friend. It’s not a thing people get to do: come out and have their best friend, the one they’ve been thinking about non-stop in their quiet moments of want, also come out and kiss them. She feels like she’s being swept away by something so perfect and joyful. Lucky. The word for all of this is lucky. 

And, sure, she’s spending the last evening of summer inside reading the Great Gatsby with her friend Ali instead of living it up somewhere, but she doesn’t mind. This year is going to be a dream. 

And then the text comes. 

“Scott asked me to homecoming. I said yes.” 

When she sees Tobin’s text she feels like the earth might have shifted off of its axis. “What the fuck?” she says aloud.

“What’s up, Chris?” Ali asks. 

“She…” Christen shakes her head trying to form words, “Tobin told some GUY that she’ll go to Homecoming with him.”

“What?” Ali asks, indignant. “I thought you two were like a thing.”

“Yeah, so did I, but maybe...Fuck! Maybe this is her way of saying she just wants to be friends.” Christen’s mind is reeling. It feels like someone has stabbed her in the chest and each time she reads the words “I said yes” the knife twists. 

“No way. She’s totally into you,” Ali argues, disbelief still evident in her voice, but Christen is still glaring at the text. 

In the deepest pits of her stomach she KNOWS. Tobin doesn’t want her. Not like she wants Tobin. 

“Well, apparently not.” She feels tears stinging at her eyes. But no. She refuses. She REFUSES to cry over...over some girl. That is not who she is. She is strong and independent. She doesn’t need a girlfriend. She doesn’t need Tobin. 

She types out, “He’s cute!,” presses send, and then hurls her phone across the room, not bothering to check if it breaks, not bothering to follow its path with her eyes. 

“Chris…” Ali starts, but Christen shakes her head. 

“No. It is the last night of summer. I am not dwelling on Tobin Heath and fucking homecoming. I’m hanging out with my friend Ali and we’re damn well going to have fun.” 

* * *

She knows Emily wants her. She sees the way Emily looks at her. She feels how she responds to her touch. She sees how the nickname “Em” can elicit goosebumps if it’s said in conjunction with a light brush of the hand. 

Besides, Emily as good as admitted her crush to her this summer. 

And, Emily is funny, and has a nice smile. She likes to dance and her eyes sparkle when she’s talking about something she loves. She’s starting on the varsity team as a freshman. Maybe if she tries hard enough she could want her. 

Well, it’s not that she doesn’t want Emily. She does. It’s just—she doesn’t want Emily like Emily wants her. But maybe she could if she tried? Maybe it would just happen? Sometimes being wanted by someone is enough to make you want them. It wouldn’t be the first time someone was more into her than she was into them. It could work. 

She’s not cruel. She doesn’t use people. She’s not trying to use Emily. It’s not like she’s just latching on to anyone who gives her the slightest bit of attention that is not named Tobin Heath.

And she likes flirting with Emily. She really does. She does her best not to realize that she does it more when Tobin is nearby. She tries not to notice that she pays more attention to Tobin’s reaction than to Emily’s when she and Emily stand a little too close together. She ignores the way that every time Tobin looks a little jealous, Christen feels just the tiniest bit victorious deep down inside.

* * *

Homecoming is everything it always is: loud, overly decorated, and far too focussed on the football star and the cheerleader on his arm. 

Christen goes in a group with Ali, Ash, Emily, and Inez. 

Tobin goes with Scott, blue knee length dress with a high neck, the pink corsage around her wrist a glaring reminder that she’s there with the wrong person. 

Christen does her best not to look their way. 

She dances with Ali until Ash drags her off somewhere. She dances with Inez while Tobin lingers by the punch bowl. 

And then the song comes on—the one from that night. And she looks for Tobin and sees Scott discreetly pocketing his flask, laughing with his buddies, hair gelled up into spikes. She’s sure he thinks it looks cute but it only really makes him look like a douche. And then he’s walking towards Tobin, bowing all chivalrously, taking her hand as she giggles. 

There’s a moment, a split second, where Tobin looks around, where she thinks maybe Tobin is going to turn him down, where maybe it will all come out that this was some big mistake. 

But then Emily is holding out a drink to her with a broad smile and when Christen looks back, Tobin and Scott are swaying together, almost in time, to the music. 

“You know what? I’m not really that thirsty right now. Dance with me, Em?” 

Emily looks surprised as Christen takes their drinks, sets them both on the nearest table, and takes Emily by the hand. 

There’s a stammered, “Yeah, sure,” as Christen weaves deeper into the crowd. She’s not moving to be right next to Tobin. She just doesn’t want to be one of those awkward couples at the edge of the dance floor. 

That’s what she tells herself as she turns to face Emily, sliding a hand around her waist until it finds the curve of her spine, ignoring the passing tut-tutting from Ms. Ellis as she pulls Emily in closer. 

She sways her hips in time to the music, stomach pressed flush against Emily’s. She pretends she doesn’t notice Emily’s nervous swallow, or the way that she doesn’t seem to know where to put her hands, moving them from Christen’s hips to her sides and eventually opting for arms around Christen’s neck. 

She does her best not to think about the last time she danced with anyone, the way that the night then had seemed full of possibilities, whereas tonight it feels heavy, mandatory, another thing to get through. 

Over Emily’s shoulder she catches Tobin’s eye, just for a second, but then she spins Emily away, turns her attention back to her, smiles, laughs as she spins her a second time. Emily pretends to wobble as she comes back to her, and then the song changes, the new one faster. 

Tobin doesn’t leave the dance floor as Scott steps away and starts to wiggle in a rather uncoordinated way. 

Emily, on the other hand, declares the song _her jam_. There’s more space between them now, but the dance moves come easily and Emily’s hand guides her hips in a way that gets them both frowned at by Ms. Ellis once again. 

Christen tries not to be aware of it but she can feel Tobin’s eyes, feel her gaze holding steady, boring into her. If she’s jealous, let her be. She made her choice. She can’t decide that she suddenly wants Christen just because someone else wants her too. 

“You’ve got moves, Em,” Christen says, leaning in close so that her lips ghost the shell of Emily’s ear. 

She feels the slight shiver that runs through Emily and she grins, pulling away just enough to lock eyes with her. 

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Scott move around behind Tobin, wrap his hand around her stomach. It’s a move that’s bound to get them scolded by a teacher, but of course none seem to be immediately around. 

Christen takes Emily’s hands and spins them so that she’s facing away, so that she can’t see if his hands stray, so that she can’t see if Tobin leans back into him. She doesn’t want to know. 

Emily does an extra spin, drops low, then dances her way back up and Christen giggles. Emily pulls a face and Christen laughs, dances closer. 

Emily’s cute and Emily’s funny and Emily’s a good dancer. 

The song ends, and Emily’s saying, “Phew, I could actually really use that drink now,” but Christen -

It’s a moment of panic. It’s not her best work. It’s sure as hell not the brightest idea she’s ever had. It’s just she wants to show Tobin, to show her before Emily wanders off, before the night ends, before Homecoming draws to a close, that she’s okay, she’s moved on, she’ll find someone else. 

“Thanks for the dances, Em,” she murmurs, her hands on Emily’s arms, and then she’s pressing in, cupping her cheek, kissing her deeply. 

Emily tastes like fruit punch and her lips are a little chapped, and everything about the kiss feels wrong, but Christen leans into it and smiles as she pulls away. 

There are a few whoops, a few wolf whistles, and a sharp, “That’s enough Miss Press, Miss Sonnett.”

She doesn’t turn to see Tobin’s reaction. She loops her arm through Emily’s and says, “Let’s go get those drinks.”

* * *

Christen should have known they’d end up at the same after-party. All the soccer players ended up there, so of course Tobin and pretty-boy Scott do too. 

And Tobin is there laughing at his stupid jokes and smiling when he brings her a drink and talking and talking and talking with him. 

“Play beer pong with me, Em?”

And they do and they win, and Christen forces down every last drop of beer, takes Emily’s last cup for her. She’s only a freshman. Christen has higher tolerance. (Christen needs it more.)

“Who’s got next?” she asks, but Emily bows out and Christen -

She can’t let Emily get too far because if she does then it might look like -

And Emily’s funny. Emily makes her laugh. Emily gets her to dance to that stupid Electric Slide with her until others are joining in too. Emily with her bright smile and her blue eyes and her jokes. She’s good to spend time with. 

They’re standing in the kitchen, near the blue punch Crystal has disgustingly nicknamed “Smurf Piss” that is about a thousand parts alcohol to two parts blue Kool-Aid, talking music and bands and Emily is promising to burn her a CD and she hears it. 

Scott, with his bumbling voice and his hands that are too large reaching out to take Tobin’s, asking, “Hey, so, I’ve had a lot of fun with you tonight, and, uh, I was wondering if, uh, you maybe wanted to go bowling next week? With me.”

Christen tries not to hold her breath. She tries not to think about the way that Tobin is still wearing that stupid fucking corsage, or the way that she’s stayed by Scott’s side all fucking night. She tries not to listen for the answer. 

She fails miserably on all counts. 

“Um, yeah. That could...that could be fun.”

“Sweet! Cool! Yeah!”

“Dope,” she hears Tobin echo. 

And then Scott is asking her if she maybe wants to head out back for a bit and Christen can’t listen anymore. 

She wraps her arm around Emily’s waist, hand falling to her hip, giving it a squeeze as she murmurs, “Hey, you wanna get out of here?”

Emily looks mildly surprised, but she nods, mouth open in this adorable kind of way, and Christen keeps her hand on Emily’s hip, places a small kiss on her cheek as she says, “Great!”, guides her out of the kitchen, out of the house, sparing one small look right at Tobin as they leave. 

* * *

The stars are bright and the almost full moon illuminates the rocky outcropping by the lake in a serene blue light. It’s peaceful here, the quiet sounds of night surrounding them. There’s a chill in the air and the fallen leaves crinkle underfoot as they make their way to the rocks and sit down. 

Now that they’re out here, away from the party and the music and the stifling atmosphere, now that Christen feels like she can breathe again, she’s not really sure what to say. 

Emily finds a few rocks to skip and Christen listens to them bounce and splash, swallowed up by the lake. 

“You’re not really into me, are you?”

The question catches her off-guard. Her instinct is to lie, to spare Emily’s feelings, but when she turns to her, a protest on her lips, she sees a kind smile. There’s no hurt there, just an invitation. 

“I want to be,” she offers. 

Emily turns her gaze to the lake and nods, her fingers fidgeting with another stone in her lap. “I kinda figured. Especially with the way you kinda ditched me at the end of the summer, and then the kiss tonight…”

“Was bad?” Christen asks, trying not to be offended. 

“No. God no. I don’t think you could be a bad kisser if you tried,” Emily assures her. “I just could tell you weren’t really into it.”

“Oh,” Christen replies, letting that information sink in. If Emily could tell then maybe -

“Yeah. Anyway, it’s fine. I mean, it kinda sucks, but like...You’re pretty cool. I don’t have to date you to think that, you know?” 

She thinks, _I’m not. I’m not cool at all_. She nods anyway. “You’re pretty cool too, Em. I mean it. You’re...Someday you’re going to fall for a girl who deserves just how hilarious you are.”

“And what an amazing dancer I am,” Emily adds with a grin. 

Christen chuckles. “Yeah. That too.”

Silence falls between them again, and Emily skips the stone in her hand. “It’s Tobin, right? The reason you...The person you really like?”

Christen takes a deep breath in, holds it, counts 1, 2, 3, then lets it out, long and slow. “Yeah,” she admits. “Sorry.”

Emily shrugs. “It’s okay. Tobin’s surprisingly cool too, even if I kinda hate her.”

Christen laughs. “I wish I did. Life would be a lot easier if I did. Instead I think I kinda, well, love her.” 

The words are out, declared to the universe, and Christen expects to feel like everything has shifted. Instead the night feels the same. 

“Wow. Okay. Maybe leave out the loving someone else talk next time you let down a crush?” Emily suggests. 

“Sorry. Em, sorry! I didn’t mean—”

Emily holds up a hand. “It’s fine. I mean, it stings a little, but I think I’ll live.” She puts a hand to her heart, feels it for a second, face scrunched up as if she’s thinking really hard, then she drops her hand back to her lap. “Yeah. I’ll live. It’ll mend.”

Christen laughs. She doesn’t deserve Emily’s kindness, her humor in this moment, but she’ll take it anyway. 

“Hey, but can we still like hang and stuff? Like I like running drills with you. Pretty sure it’s the only reason I’m actually starting.”

“Nah, you’re good,” Christen assures her. “But yeah. I’d like that. I’d really like to stay your friend, Em.”

“Friends. Yep. I can do that.” 

It might not be the end to the night Christen wanted, but maybe it’s not half bad either. 

* * *

#### The worst thing that I ever did  
Was what I did to you

* * *

She shouldn’t have said it. She knows the second it leaves her mouth. But things like this have a life of their own, especially in high school. 

By the time Inez sidles up to her during study hall and says, “Did you hear about Tobin giving Scott a blowjob after Homecoming?” she knows that the rumor has gotten completely out of control. 

It was meant as a vent. Just a stupid, “She probably even gave him a blowjob the way she was hanging on his every word.” And now it’s stated back to her as fact. 

And she should tell her. She should say, “Hey, that’s actually just a rumor. I don’t think it’s true.” But then Scott walks by with one of his buddies clapping him on the back and laughing and she says, “Oh, uh, yeah, I heard about that,” instead. 

She passes Tobin wordlessly in the hall a few minutes later and tries not to notice the way she keeps her head down, the way her eyes are rimmed read, the way she sniffles as she opens her locker. 

* * *

It takes a week before the rumor that Caleb Montgomery snorted coke overtakes the rumor about Tobin. 

A full week where Tobin doesn’t talk to her, where Tobin full on pretends she doesn’t exist on the field, as if she knows that it was Christen, that she was the source, she was the cause. 

And she is. She knows she is. So she keeps her mouth shut, keeps the silence stretching between them. 

It’s the week of Thanksgiving before she hears that Tobin and Scott broke up. She hasn’t seen them together in the halls. She’d kind of thought (kind of hoped) that maybe they had split earlier. She doesn’t want to weigh the odds that the rumor she started actually came true at some point in the past month. 

By the time Christmas break rolls around, Christen feels like she’s been constantly kicking herself forever. She should have set the record straight. She should have stood up for her. What kind of a supposed best friend was she?

The answer stares her right in the face as Tobin looks past her in the hall on the day before vacation starts and doesn’t even say Merry Christmas. 

She’s not a best friend. She’s not even sure they qualify as friends anymore. 

* * *

Christen misses her. She really fucking misses Tobin. Like a lot. She doesn’t just miss the way Tobin felt when she smiled into a kiss. She misses being able to talk to her best friend. To call her and tell her about the stupid thing Mr. Hill said in English class. To ask Tobin to watch her shoot with her left foot and help her figure out what she’s doing wrong with her hips.

Ali and Ash and Crystal and Emily all come over for her birthday, but the only person she wants, the only person that she pictures when she blows out the candles on her cake, hasn’t even sent her a text. 

She fucked up. She fucked up so badly and nothing feels the same anymore. Not without Tobin. She got jealous and she let that jealousy blind her into stupidity and here she is, living with the consequences. 

* * *

She doesn’t get an invite to the Heath family annual New Year’s Eve bash. She doesn’t really expect to, so she’s already made other plans, even if they are with her parents. Not being invited to something stings less when you wouldn’t be able to go anyway. Still, she thinks...she wishes…

It’s not worth it.

It’s not worth the wishing and the wondering. 

Would Tobin even let her in if she just showed up? 

It’s better she doesn’t ask. She’ll smile with her parents and pretend that she’s bringing in the new year with a feeling of excitement. 

The truth is, even if Tobin would let her in, she wouldn’t deserve it. What she did to Tobin is the worst thing she’s ever done. Starting the rumor, letting it continue, doing everything in her power to make Tobin jealous beforehand. She- 

She’s a horrible person. She deserves every ounce of pain, every bit of nausea when she thinks about Tobin, about what might have been, about what could have happened if she’d just talked to her, if she’d apologized. 

No, she won’t start the new year off happy. She’ll start it off with an ache in her chest and regret heavy on her shoulders and she’ll deserve all of it. She’s waited too long to even try to make things right. 

Except-

Except that as eight o’clock slips into nine o’clock, as her mom goes and puts her pajamas on and her dad says he’s having his last glass of whiskey of the night, that he’s too old to make it to midnight anymore, all Christen can think about is Tobin. 

All she can do is replay different versions of events out in her mind. 

If she’d told Tobin not to go to Homecoming with Scott. If she’d worked up the nerve to ask her to dance anyway. If she’d fought for her. If she hadn’t accidentally started that rumor. If she hadn’t passively confirmed it when it came back to her. If she’d reached out. If she’d apologized. If she’d done fucking ANYTHING. 

And here they are, on the brink of a new year as ten o’clock rolls around. Two hours until people all over welcome a new year, a fresh start. 

Christen wants that. 

She wants that fresh start. She wants to feel like maybe there’s hope—hope that she and Tobin can get back to a place where they’re at the very least friends. They have a year and a half left of high school. By eleven o’clock she has decided that she doesn’t want that year and a half to be Tobinless. 

Maybe this is a stupid decision. Maybe Tobin won’t let her in. Maybe she’ll just be turned away from the party and told that Tobin never wants to see or talk to her again. 

She has to try anyway. 

* * *

There’s a moment when she gets there, too nervous to knock, too overwhelmed by the raucous from inside—so full of joy that she doesn’t feel, that she thinks she should turn around and head home. 

She doesn’t. It’s as if her feet are glued in place. She can’t go forward, but she can’t move back either. She raises her hand and raps on the heavy wood. It’s so loud inside she’s not sure anyone will even have heard it. 

And then the door swings open, and Tobin turns, still laughing from something that someone inside has said, and her face freezes, her smile drops as she takes Christen in. 

Christen offers a half wave, an apologetic smile, but words fail her when she opens her mouth. 

Tobin crosses her arms and leans in her doorway, her body language clear: “You’re not welcome here.”

“I’m sorry.” It’s the first thing she can think of to say, the truest thing by far. 

Tobin’s posture changes minutely. If Christen hadn’t once known her so well, she might not have noticed. “For what?”

“For everything. Look, I know...I know you don’t owe me anything, I just...Could we talk? Please? Even if you tell me to go fuck myself afterwards. I just want to apologize properly. For being a fucking idiot.”

“And an asshole,” Tobin adds, but she’s pushing off the doorframe and nodding towards her garden. 

“That, too,” Christen agrees with a wry smile as she follows her into the familiar space, the neatly mulched beds awaiting spring to bring back their colorful flowers, the small bench along the perfectly trimmed hedge. 

Tobin sits, but Christen isn’t sure if she’s allowed to, so she doesn’t. 

“Well, go on,” Tobin says, impatience heavy in her voice. 

Christen takes a deep breath, pulls her coat a little tighter, and begins. Her words flood out in a jumbled mess of apologies and admissions. “I’m sorry that I pushed you away and that I was such a jerk about Scott and Emily. I’m sorry that I kissed her in front of you and tried to make you jealous, and fuck, I’m so fucking sorry that I started that rumor. I wasn’t trying to at all and I don’t even know if you knew that it was me—”

“I did. Ash went on a warpath and figured it out,” Tobin acknowledges, and just the fact that she speaks feels like a small victory, so Christen keeps going. 

“Well I didn’t mean to, but it’s still my fault that I did and that I didn’t stop it and I’m such an asshole and I’m so, so, fucking sorry, Tobin. I should’ve come to apologize like every fucking day afterwards, and I didn’t and...I don’t know if you’ve missed me at all, but I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so fucking much, and I don’t know what I need to do to fix this friendship, but...My birthday fucking sucked without you, and I really don’t want to have another one without you.”

“Oh, well, sorry your birthday sucked while I was over here getting all of the religious texts ever for Christmas in the least subtle ‘please be straight’ ever after I came out to my family WITHOUT THE SUPPORT OF MY BEST FRIEND. You know, the girl who stabbed me in the back and made me the talk of the whole school for something I didn’t even...I WOULDN’T even have done? You know, I think that hurt more than the rumor. The fact that you thought I would. Like...like maybe you never knew me at all.”

The words take a moment for Christen to process, and then they hit her like a ton of bricks. “I knew. I knew they weren’t true. Tobin, I was just venting and jealous and stupid, I didn’t mean for it to happen. I just felt so hurt that you were there with him.” She looks down at her hands before softly adding, “and not me.” 

“I thought you wanted me there with him.”

“Why… why would I want that?”

“I don’t know! I thought we were heading somewhere and then you practically pushed me to go to Homecoming with him!”

“Tobin! You made that decision without me. You told me that you were doing it. You didn’t ask my opinion!”

“You could have said something! You could have told me not to! You could have asked if I wanted to, or why I said yes, or anything! Instead you said, ‘He’s cute,’ like he was who I wanted. Like he was who I’d spent weeks kissing.”

“I thought it was your way of telling me you didn’t want me anymore. I wanted to show up at your house and yell at you that you were being so stupid, but then I just— I just couldn’t take being rejected by you in person. I wanted you so much… I want you so much.” 

The words linger in the air between them, Tobin’s eyes wide, and Christen feels panic setting in. She hadn’t meant to say that. She didn’t even really know she meant it until the words were out, and now they are and there’s no way to put them back in. 

“I - I’m not trying to pressure you for something. I just...I hope we can be friends again. Someday. That’s all.” 

Except it’s not, and the look in Tobin’s eyes as she stands suggests that she knows that. 

Inside the house somebody hollers, “TEN SECONDS TO MIDNIGHT!”

“You want me?” Tobin whispers. 

“TEN!”

She should lie. She should say, “Back in my life.” She should make it so that Tobin doesn’t realize how true the words are. Instead, she breathes out, “Yes.” 

“NINE!”

Tobin takes a step closer, her eyes focussed on Christen, and Christen’s entire body feels on edge, as if any second now her fight or flight drive will kick in. 

“EIGHT!” 

“You’ve wanted me this whole time?” Another step closer, her voice curious. 

“SEVEN!”

Christen nods. “I think I-”

“SIX!”

Does she dare? Can she risk saying it? Putting it out into the universe? “I think I’m in love with you.” 

“FIVE!”

There’s a hollow laugh, and then piercing eyes, boring into her very soul. “You’re in love with me?”

“FOUR!”

“I know. Fucked up way of showing it. I’m sorry. I should-”

“THREE!” 

Tobin’s hand on her arm stops her, keeps her in place. “Stay.”

“TWO!” 

A glimmer of hope wells up in Christen’s chest. “Are you sure?” 

“ONE!” 

Tobin’s lips are soft against hers. It’s a tender, but fleeting kiss with the words, “Happy New Year,” breathed against her lips. Tobin pulls back and adds. “We have a lot still to talk about.”

Christen breathes out and smiles. “Yeah. Okay.”


	6. mirrorball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Choosing the right college is easy for Emily, but pining after yet another friend is much harder.

#### You'll find me on my tallest tiptoes  
Shining just for you

* * *

She ends up where Christen is. It had been a no-brainer, really. There was a good soccer program, someone built in to stay with when she was doing college visits, and two ready-made friends in Christen and Tobin. Plus, bonus, they had the art program she wanted. 

What she doesn’t expect is Lindsey. Lindsey, the brick wall, dominant force on the soccer field who is shy and bumbling off of it. Lindsey who knows Tobin from summers past. Lindsey whose eyes crinkle in the most adorable way when she laughs. 

Lindsey who sees right through her. 

Well, not really. Not the way she wants her to. 

But it’s fine. 

It’s fine because Lindsey becomes her automatic best friend. And being Lindsey’s best friend is a hell of a lot better than not being in her life at all. 

(She doesn’t want to think about how she’s always just the friend. She’ll find her person eventually.)

* * *

Lindsey has the best laugh. 

That’s what Emily decides on the first team bonding night. They go to a driving range and Emily cannot seem to hit the ball to save her life. She swings and spins more time than she can count, and yet she doesn’t mind. Not one bit. Not when Lindsey keeps watching her, keeps giggling.

* * *

Lindsey gives the best hugs, too. 

She finds that out after their first win. The way Lindsey scoops her up and spins her around, yelling in her ear, excitement radiating off of both of them. 

(She doesn’t want to think _what if_. She doesn’t let herself dwell on moments that seem to linger. She doesn’t want to think that maybe, if she wasn’t too scared, if she was a little braver, if she didn’t hide behind her jokes, maybe they would…

No.)

* * *

It’s almost Christmas and the season has ended. It’s not the ending they wanted, but there’s always next season. Next season they’re gonna win it all. College Cup champs. She knows. 

Anyway, they’re celebrating tonight. No regrets. End of the season, end of the semester, with a bonus splash of ugly sweaters. Emily specializes in ugly Christmas sweaters. There are SO many good ones. She has two on just so that she can switch halfway through the night. 

And Lindsey -

Lindsey’s beside her, her body warm, her sweater appropriately ridiculous. Lindsey is beside her smiling wide, looking free and happy and beautiful and Emily -

“Son.”

Emily’s lost in blue eyes and adorable dimples. 

“Sonny,” Lindsey repeats, her hand patting at Emily’s thigh to get her attention. 

Emily’s gaze shifts. She looks down at the hand burning through her jeans, pressed into her leg. “Hmm?” she manages to hum in reply.

She’s not even that drunk. She’s tipsy at best. But Lindsey can blame her slowness on the alcohol and Emily won’t correct her. It’s easier this way. It’s easier to let simple closeness exist when the beer is flowing. There are less questions raised. 

And Lindsey is always a little handsy when she’s drinking. It’s- it’s fine. It’s nice. 

(It’s sometimes almost overwhelming, almost like it could mean more, almost like Lindsey wants Emily to have hope.)

Lindsey giggles. It’s a beautiful giggle. Like sunshine through the trees on a spring day. Or...something. Okay, maybe she’s not the most poetic girl in the world, but damn if she could just keep making Lindsey laugh like that...

“You’re funny.”

Emily grins. “Thank you, thank you,” she replies, doing mock half bows. “I’ll be here all week.”

Lindsey laughs a little harder and Emily drinks it in. This is better than crack. Not that she’d know. She doesn’t—She wouldn’t! But it has to be. 

“You head home Wednesday,” Lindsey points out. It comes with a poke to the nose, the pad of her index finger soft as it smushes into her skin. 

Emily wrinkles her nose in response, doesn’t like the reminder that Lindsey is going to be very far away so very soon. “Oh. Right. Well, I’ll be here ‘til Wednesday?” 

And Lindsey is laughing again. She’s laughing and she’s leaning in closer and her breath is hot against Emily’s face, and Emily-

God, if only she could just capture this moment, freeze it forever. The two of them in a bubble in time, Lindsey’s eyes focussed on her, her eyes crinkled as she laughs that deep laugh and-

“I’m gonna miss you, Em.”

The words take Emily’s breath away. And the use of the nickname...Lindsey never calls her Em. Christen will, sometimes, off the field. But Lindsey...Never. 

There’s an underlying somberness to her words, too, like she’s genuinely sad at the idea that they’ll be parting ways soon. Like she might actually miss Emily as much as Emily is going to miss her. 

The thought tugs at something in her gut, curling and twisting it uncomfortably. She scrunches up her face, shakes her head, forces out a laugh, and says, “Naaah. You won’t have anyone’s jokes to complain about for weeks! You’ll be fine!” 

And Lindsey laughs again and says, “You really should meet my brother,” and the moment is gone again, just like that. 

* * *

She’s on sweater two before she finds herself in the back corner of the yard, smushed onto the picnic table bench with Lindsey and Caitlin, Christen and Tobin across from them, all cuddled up and adorable and coupley (and nauseating). They’re so in love that sometimes it hurts Emily to look at them full on, but Lindsey’s hand is back on her thigh and she’s definitely squeezed in closer to Emily than she is to Caitlin and that takes the edge off a little. 

Especially when Lindsey leans over and whispers, “Do you think Tobin is going to stick her tongue down Chris’s throat right there? Should we get them a room?”

Emily can feel Lindsey’s breath hot on her cheek, feels the way her lips seem to burn her as they brush against the shell of her ear. The night air is cold, verging on bitter even with the fire not too far away, but suddenly Emily feels hot all over. 

“I can’t stand the cold. It never gets this cold in Australia. I’m not built for it!” Caitlin declares, standing up and leaving them at the table with Christen and Tobin.

Christen and Tobin who are lost in each other’s eyes, lost in their own world, in their own whispered conversation. Christen barely manages a wave as Caitlin walks off to a chorus of, “See you” from Lindsey and Emily. 

And Lindsey doesn’t move over. She doesn’t scoot down the bench. She doesn’t give Emily an inch more of space. 

Emily glances across the table, wants to see if they’ve seen, if she’s imagining this closeness or if everyone can notice it. 

But Tobin’s lips are attached to Christen’s throat and Christen’s letting out a small giggle, and then Lindsey clears her throat loudly and pointedly beside her. 

“You know, I think, maybe, we’re going to head inside too.”

“To find a bed?” Emily suggests with a smirk and Lindsey laughs beside her, body pressed against hers close enough that she feels it vibrate through her, feels her body shake. 

“Probably,” Tobin says at the same time that Christen blushes and says, “No!” 

Christen swats at Tobin’s arm, playfully, but Tobin just grins that goofy grin that she always gets around Christen, and Emily laughs. 

It’s only once they’re gone, once the picnic table is all theirs in the back corner of the yard, darkness enveloping in their own world away from the fire and the chatter that is happening elsewhere, away from the music blasting inside or the howls as someone loses a game of beer pong, that Emily takes a moment to acknowledge that Lindsey still hasn’t moved. 

“Linds?”

“Hmm?” Lindsey replies.

Emily looks. Maybe she shouldn’t have, but Lindsey is SO very close and she’s hummed a reply and so Emily looks, and Lindsey is right there, looking back. 

Emily swallows hard. Her mouth feels suddenly so much drier. “You’re, uh, you’re very close.”

“It’s cold,” Lindsey replies. “You’re keeping me warm.” 

Her gaze holds steady on Emily and Emily wants to say, “Well, you’re setting me on fire,” but she holds her tongue, bites her lower lip, keeps the words inside. She can’t let them out. She might be tipsy, but she knows that much. 

“Right,” she murmurs instead. 

“Do you want me to move?” Lindsey asks. It feels like a dare, like a challenge, and Emily’s never been the type to back down from a challenge. 

“No!” It comes out a little too quick, a little too forceful, and Lindsey smiles, the corners of her lips turning up into the hint of a smirk. 

And Emily thinks, _She knows. She has to._

“This is some party, huh?” 

It is the lamest of lame things she could say, and Lindsey laughs. She wonders briefly if she’s addicted to the sound, if she could stop trying to make Lindsey laugh even if she wanted to. 

“You’re such a dork, Son,” Lindsey replies. Her voice is low, deep, rumbling through both of their bodies at once in their closeness. 

Emily should look away. She should get up and move. She should do something. Anything. 

Anything except what she actually does.

She leans in, presses a kiss to those lips that are curled up in the corners, that are so soft and inviting and, she realizes, a little wet. 

And Lindsey -

Lindsey leans in too, kisses her back. 

It takes Emily’s brain a second to process, and then another second before she’s cupping Lindsey’s cheek, pulling her in greedily, swiping her tongue along Lindsey’s bottom lip. 

Lindsey moans into her mouth and it sets Emily’s body on fire, makes her shift in her seat just for the barest hint of friction, makes her pull Lindsey in closer, hand sneaking up under Lindsey’s sweater. 

She gets lost in the kiss, in the touch, in the sensations bombarding her senses as Lindsey’s body presses into hers, Lindsey’s hands roam over her body, tracing along the waistline of her jeans, sliding up the back of her sweater, and then it hits her square in the chest, all of it, everything at once, and it’s too much.

She pulls back, gasping for air, eyes wide. She wants her so much, but what if it’s just the alcohol? What if this is just -

What if it’s not the same thing for Lindsey as it is for her? 

She wants to ask, wants to clear the air, to make sure they’re on the same page. 

Lindsey’s hair looks a little wild and her lips are a bit swollen and her eyes are dark, and Emily opens her mouth to ask, to make sure, but what comes out is, “I’m really gonna miss you, Linds.”

Lindsey scoots away, just an inch, but it’s enough. “I’m really gonna miss you too, Em.”

* * *

She gets the text before she’s even back at school. Lindsey’s going out with Russell. A guy. She’s going out with a guy. 

He’s not even that cute. 

Emily shoves her feelings away, locks them away in a box. 

Having Lindsey as her best friend is better than not having her at all.


	7. epiphany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobin's faced the fog before, but it's never hit her quite like this, and she can't seem to stop pushing everyone away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI this chapter contains a discussion of depression and passing suicidality

#### And some things you just can't speak about

* * *

It’s 25 minutes into the second playoff game of Tobin’s senior year when the defender from the opposing team slide tackles her, missing the ball completely and catching her left calf. Tobin’s momentum keeps her body moving forward, but she feels her foot stay in place and her leg go with the defender. The last thing she hears is a snap and then she is overwhelmed by a ringing in her ears. As her body twists through the air, she feels like she is floating in slow-motion—bleachers blur into bright stadium lights which twist into the darkness of the night sky before her body slams into the ground with a thud and she can only see bright white. 

The synesthetic experience of pain as deafening-sound and blinding-light momentarily overwhelms every other sensation. Her hearing is the first to come back: a faint scream grows slowly louder until she realizes sound is coming from her own mouth. She starts to feel her body again and recognizes that she must be writhing back and forth because the pressure from the ground seems to be dancing in a semicircle around her head, as if trying to coax her brain back into the moment. 

And then suddenly she feels everything—the pain is so strong she almost vomits. She hears someone say, “God, that’s a lot of blood.” She feels Christen’s hand in hers, but she keeps her eyes closed. She hears Christen’s voice soft in her ears whispering, “It’s okay, it’s going to be okay,” but there’s a subtle crack in her tone that betrays her reassurance for pleading. 

As they’re carrying her off the field it occurs to Tobin: soccer is over, for good.

* * *

The team loses in the next round. 

Tobin watches it all from the bench in a leg cast and tries not to cry. She tries to be strong for Christen who is devastated she hit the crossbar taking her last shot of her last game of her college career. 

She comforts Lindsey and Emily telling them they’ll win it all next year. 

She can’t help but feel that she needed to be out there. That she would have made the difference. 

She can’t help resenting her team for losing.

* * *

She makes it through Thanksgiving, and finals, but when they go home for winter break, Tobin lays down in her childhood bed and sobs.

She does it every night that Christen doesn’t stay over.

* * *

They remove her cast in January, just before the semester starts back. She feels hopeful, relieved, excited even. But then she tries to handle a soccer ball. She’s slow, and imprecise. It’s like her brain can’t control her left leg anymore. She asks if she can work with one of the school’s athletic trainers to rehabilitate, but they are too busy helping people who will actually play sports for the university in the future. She has no future in soccer. 

Every night after Christen goes to sleep, the fog rolls in around her. She stares at the ceiling in the dark and she can feel her breathing become almost imperceptibly more difficult until the weight of everything exhausts her and sleep takes her. But at least by morning it’s gone. 

And then one night it settles firmly and it stays. It does so without warning or fanfare. She wishes she could have warned her friends, warned Christen, but it blankets everything as she sleeps and she wakes entirely consumed by it.

The fog is thick and heavy on her body. It robs her of her movement, her drive, her sleep. It threatens to wreck her relationships. It makes her realize how totally unsuited she is for any relationship at all. Teeth clenched and exhausted for no good reason, she trudges through life. Each moment feels more difficult than the last. Everything she does becomes more and more arduous than it has been before.

She blames the injury. 

Christen tells her she thinks it’s more than the injury. She suggests Tobin see a therapist, but the campus counseling center appointment process is just difficult enough to navigate that she fails to schedule anything. She might be failing her environmental science class too. 

Eyes bloodshot, she’s pushing food back and forth around her plate at her weekly lunch with Lindsey, when Lindsey speaks up. “You okay, T? You’ve seemed a little off these past few weeks.”

She sighs deeply, “Yeah, I’m good Linds.”

“You don’t seem good, T.” Lindsey studies her with worried eyes as Tobin sits in silence. “I know, soccer is over and college is almost over for you and stuff, I’m sure that must be tough?” It feels almost like an accusation. Tobin doesn’t quite understand why it agitates her, but there’s just something about Lindsey’s tone that strikes her the wrong way.

“I’m sure it must be tough to be gay and be in a relationship with a dude, too.” She sneers. She feels her heart racing as she steadies her gaze on Lindsey. 

“What the fuck are you saying, Tobin?”

“I’m saying, you’re gay and you’re dating Russell. You’re lying to yourself.”

“Fuck you, Tobin. First, for your information, people can be bi. People ARE allowed to change how they identify. I don’t have to stick with what I told you when I was like fourteen and didn’t know any better.” The words seem forced. The way she hisses some of them across the table, like she doesn’t want to be overheard, give away that what she’s scared of isn’t that she might be bi, but that she’s probably not. “Second, not everyone gets a Christen in their lives. He is good to me and he loves me and that’s really all that matters. I’m going to give you a pass on this because I know you’re going through some shit, but that’s a really fucked up thing to say.”

“Whatever, at least I’m not living a lie.”

Lindsey glares at her for a long second before wordlessly standing up, taking her tray, and leaving the table. 

As Lindsey walks away, Tobin pushes her plate away and drops her forehead onto the table, staring down at her shoes. The words “how long do I get to have a Christen in my life?” bounce around her head. She feels embarrassed and guilty, but she just couldn’t stop herself. She’s blowing up everything. It’s all she knows how to do anymore.

* * *

When she gets home that afternoon, she runs a bath. She fills the tub as full as it will go and climbs into the warm water. She lets her arms and legs float slightly and then slides her face under the water.

It’s peaceful underwater. The silence, the feeling of weightlessness: gravity and reality releasing their grip on her. She feels her hair floating around her and wonders if she’d ever realized just how heavy it was before now. She opens her eyes under water and stares at the can light embedded in the matte-white ceiling above the tub. She loves how removed from everything she feels right now. When she’s out of breath she surfaces for a few moments, taking in air, and then repeats the process at least a half dozen more times. A few times she opens her mouth and wonders what it might feel like to inhale, but she doesn’t indulge her curiosity. 

She’s not quite sure how many times she’s submerged herself when a dark figure obstructs the light above the tub and she hears the muffled sound of a word that’s like her name. She pulls her head out of the water with a start to find Christen standing above her looking down with worried eyes. 

“What are you doing, Tobin?” She asks, voice calm.

“I don’t know? Taking a bath?” Tobin suddenly feels compelled to cover her breasts. Christen sees her naked all of the time, of course, but right now it feels like she is too exposed. Like she’s been caught in a shameful act. She feels the heat of embarrassment creeping across her face. Tobin is suddenly aware of how tepid the water is. She looks down at her pruney fingers and wonders how long she’s been in the tub.

“Tobin, I called three times and have been knocking on your door for like 5 minutes. I finally went and got my spare key from my car. We’re supposed to be going out to dinner with Emily and Lindsey tonight. What’s going on, babe?”

“Fuck! Sorry! I forgot. It was just kind of a stressful day so I just wanted to take a bath and relax.” She hastily stands up and climbs out of the tub, rushing to wrap herself in a towel, slipping as she tries to exit the tub and spilling water all over the mat. 

“Tobin, it’s okay. I’ll just text them we’ll be late. What’s going on?”

Tobin doesn’t know what to say. She can’t explain it, especially not to Christen. Christen who knows her so well. Whom she trusts with everything. She doesn’t want her to worry. She can’t let Christen think less of her. “It’s just—I’ve just had a hard day and been a little sad.”

Christen looks at her compassionately and softly says, “Babe.” 

It’s a face and a tone that Tobin’s encountered before, dozens of times, from relatives, friends, neighbors. She hates the look on Christen’s face—it feels more like pity than love. 

“No big deal. I’ll get dressed and we can go,” she huffs out nervously, pushing past Christen toward the bathroom door. She pretends she doesn’t notice Christen’s sharp intake of air as she muscles past her.

* * *

Dinner is awkward. It’s not bad. Not exactly, though the look that Lindsey gives her when they get there tells her that she’s far from forgiven for her earlier comments. 

She doesn’t bring it up, though, and before long the conversation and the laughter is flowing. It’s enough to make her forget the weight on her shoulders. 

Except— 

Except she still feels like she’s just going through the motions. Laughing when she should, smiling when she should, saying the right things at the right times. It’s like a mask that she’s wearing and those around her, the people closest to her, can’t see through it. The worried looks aren’t swinging her way. The hint of pity has left Christen’s eyes. 

It’s like if she acts right well enough nobody will know that inside she’s still drowning, still underwater in the bath. 

She’s fooling everyone except herself. 

Or so she thinks.

But Christen’s grip on her arm is tight as they leave and they’re barely out of earshot of Lindsey and Emily’s place when she rounds on her. 

“What was that tonight?”

“What was what?” She shrugs, hoping that feigning ignorance will work.

“What was what? What was ALL of that, Tobin!? It was like you were in a different room from the rest of us. All of your answers were delayed, not a single smile reached your eyes, it was like you’d completely checked out! Lindsey and Emily were just too polite to say anything, but Jesus, Tobin, you could at least make an effort! I know you’re sad, I know the injury messed you up, but come ON! You haven’t even called the campus health center yet!”

“I CALLED THEM” she yells before she can calm herself down. She stops and takes a breath. “I called them, they just didn’t have appointments. It’s just not—they just don’t really have spots. And Lindsey was a total jerk to me today—I was mad at her, that’s all. It’s really just… Nevermind, you don’t get it.” She huffs and stares at the ground.

She can hear the sharp inhale from Christen, can tell from the way her arms are crossed that she’s working on controlling her temper. “I don’t get it? Tobin, I’ve done nothing but try to understand, but try to help you since this all started! If I don’t get it, then explain it to me! And okay, if you were mad at Lindsey we didn’t have to go tonight! But you didn’t have to treat Emily like that!”

“Of COURSE you’re fucking worried about Emily and how Emily is feeling over how I’m feeling. Whatever, Chris.”

Christen pinches the bridge of her nose, sighs heavily. “Tobin, that’s not - Of course I’m worried about how you’re feeling! I haven’t had a proper night’s sleep in weeks because I’m so worried about you! I love you, Tobin! God, I love you so much! I just...I want to help, okay? Help me help you.” 

She steps forward and Tobin has to resist the urge to flinch away as Christen draws her in, eyes brimming with tears. 

“I want to help. I want you to feel better, Tobs. I love you, okay?”

Tobin wishes words could fix things, that love could clear the fog, but she knows they can’t. She looks into Chrsiten’s eyes, certain she’s wasting the love that Christen is offering. She sighs, “I love you too, Chris. I’m sorry. For everything. I will— I’ll be better for you.” 

She knows it’s a lie, can feel the way that she’s already being tugged deeper, the way she’s sinking under the water. The fog is growing heavier and it takes so much energy to fight it. But if she doesn’t say it Christen will be gone, so she lives with the lie and tells herself it isn’t one. 


	8. my tears ricochet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christen struggles as Tobin pulls away

#### Even on my worst day, did I deserve, babe  
All the hell you gave me?  
'Cause I loved you, I swear I loved you

* * *

Things fall apart slowly at first, and then everything crumbles, like the foundation was never that stable to begin with. 

She tries. She tries every day to be what Tobin needs, to get Tobin to accept that she loves her, that she cares about her, that she wants them to be happy together. Fuck, she just wants Tobin to be happy even if it’s without her. 

But Tobin-

She doesn’t seem like Tobin anymore. 

More often than not their fights start to end in them taking a night apart, one of them storming out, crashing on Emily and Lindsey’s couch, and Christen crying herself to sleep. 

It’s draining. It feels like she’s giving and giving and giving to Tobin, but she’s stopped getting anything back. 

She’s not even sure if Tobin loves her anymore. When she says it, the words ring hollow. 

And maybe Christen needs to work on her patience. She’s started meditating, just trying to take a few minutes for herself in a day. She’s just trying to calm her mind, to calm her worries, to quell that feeling inside like everything is falling apart right before they were supposed to head off into the real world together, as a team. 

But as soon as she’s done, as soon as she’s stood and stretched and turned to face Tobin, turned to find her staring, face blank, at nothing, caring about nothing-

It all bubbles up all over again. 

She feels like she’s carrying Tobin across the finish line of college and she’s starting to wonder if it’s worth it. 

* * *

The fight that ends it happens on one of Tobin’s better days. Maybe that’s why everything hits so hard when she comes to get her for dinner to find Tobin staring straight ahead at the wall, one shoe off, the other still on, still tied, like the effort to undo it had simply proven too much for her. It’s such a little thing, but Christen just can’t take it anymore. 

“Get up and come eat.” Her words come out tired, sharp, and Tobin doesn’t miss it. 

Tobin lets out a long sigh. It’s a barely audible complaint. A left-handed test-jab. She knows she should let it go, but when Tobin says, “I’m not hungry but whatever,” her blood pressure spikes.

“No, of course you’re not hungry. You’re never hungry! I feel like I need to be spoon-feeding you like a baby just to get you to eat these days, Tobin!”

“Christ, Christen. I’m not a baby, I’m allowed to not be hungry sometimes, okay?”

Christen pinches the bridge of her nose. Breathes in deeply then out again. She wills herself to talk calmly. “It’s not sometimes, Tobin.” The words come out through clenched teeth, her anger seeping through. “If it was sometimes we wouldn’t have a problem. You’re depressed, Tobin! You’re depressed and you still haven’t gone to see the college health center! You haven’t tried to find a therapist off-campus!” 

She sees Tobin grimace before her face shifts to an expression of determination. It’s more fight than she has seen in Tobin in a while. “I fucking told you, I tried, Chris! It was impossible to get an appointment without some kind of immediate need for care. I tried. Okay? And they didn’t want me.”

“Right. Not your fault. Nothing’s ever your fault. You’re depressed because you got injured. You can’t eat because you’re depressed. You can’t get treated for the depression because the ONE fucking therapist you tried to get an appointment with didn’t have an opening that week. God, Tobin! It would really be nice if you took a little fucking responsibility here! I’m trying and trying, but you give me nothing. I don’t even know if you want to be here, if you want to be with me anymore. I want you here, but it would be nice if you felt like you wanted to help yourself. Just a little. I can’t do all the work for you! I can’t be our entire relationship by myself!” The words flow out quickly, all of the thoughts she’s pent up, afraid to say, afraid of the consequences, but she can’t keep them in anymore. She can’t just watch Tobin waste away to nothing. 

“Fuck you, Christen.” Tobin’s voice trembles with her lip and Christen can see how her words are hitting Tobin. “You act like I don’t even try, like I don’t even love you. I’m here, I haven’t gone anywhere. You are just seeing me for who I really am for once. And I get it, things got hard and now you’re over it. Well excuse me for having a fucking hard time. God! I— I thought I loved you but I feel like you don’t even fucking know me or respect me.”

“Don’t you fucking put this back on me. I am not just bailing when things get hard, Tobin! I have been here! I have stood by you and watched you slip into someone I barely recognize and the whole time I have been trying to get you to fight for you, for us! I have been trying to get my Tobin back! I don’t know you? Yeah! You’re fucking right! I don’t know this puddle of nothing that you’ve become! I don’t know this person who can’t even get both of her shoes off because that’s too fucking much energy! And fuck me? Fuck me??? When’s the last time you did that, huh, Tobs? You say you love me, but you haven’t fucking SHOWN me love in weeks! Actions speak louder than words, Tobin, and your actions are speaking volumes.” She can feel it getting out of control, feel the accusations getting bigger, the words being harder to take back. She can feel where it’s headed, but she can’t stop. She’s so tired of stopping, of giving in, of letting Tobin walk out for a night because she’s worried what will happen if she keeps pushing. 

Tobin stills and her voice grows slightly softer, her tone one edge, dangerous even as she says, “Well, if I’m just a puddle of nothing who doesn’t love you, maybe we should just be done with all of this.”

The tears that she’s been holding back, not just tonight, not just in this fight, but for days, weeks maybe, begin to blur her vision as she blinks. “Is that what you want? You want to push me away too? Like you’ve been working to push Lindsey and Emily and everyone else who cares about you away?” 

“Chris, I’m not doing this. You are. You are the one who called me nothing. You’re the one who is clearly not satisfied. I’m sorry that me being sad is just too fucking difficult for you, but this is who I am. And I know what you really think of me now.”

The tears burn a path down her cheeks, they fall from her chin, and she wipes them away angrily, shaking her hands to be rid of them, but still more fall. “That’s what you think? You’re not sad, Tobin. This isn’t a personality trait! It’s a major depressive episode! And I’m not a therapist! I’m not a psychiatrist! I can’t write you a script or give you the therapy you need! I can’t be your girlfriend AND your shrink, Tobin!”

“Whatever, Chris.” Tobin’s tone is flat and her eyes are fixed on the ground. 

“That’s it? You’re not even going to try to fight for us?” It comes out more pleading than she means it to, but Tobin is her love, her first love. She _thought_ her true love. And now -

“I don’t think there’s anything to fight for.”

Tobin’s words hammer the nail into the coffin of their relationship. 

* * *

Christen spends the night on Emily and Lindsey’s couch. When she gets back the next morning, Tobin’s clothes are gone, a shattered mug on their kitchen floor the only remnants she left of her presence there. 

Christen sits down and cries until dinner. 

* * *

Tobin knocks late the next day, and Christen knows as soon as she sees her, as soon as she sees the expression on Tobin’s face. She knows before she notices the obvious hickey on Tobin’s throat or the way her shirt isn’t buttoned properly. She feels sick in the pit of her stomach as she takes in the apology in the slump of Tobin’s shoulders, the pleading look in her eyes, the tears beginning to spill from them. 

She knows before the words start to tumble out of Tobin’s mouth, all blurring together in a haze, pushed out by the ache in her chest and the nausea washing over her. The words are meaningless, she thinks bitterly. She gave and she gave and she gave and they fought and now— 

Fuck. 

Fuck her! Fuck the fucking girl she slept with! Fuck all of it!

Christen’s done. 

She shakes her head, backing away, tuning out Tobin’s words. She’s heard enough. There’s nothing left to say anyway. 

Nothing except, “Goodbye, Tobin. I hope I never see you again.” 


	9. mad woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lindsey's with Russell. They're together even if Sonny seems to have a problem with ~~that~~ him.

#### Every time you call me crazy, I get more crazy  
What about that?  
And when you say I seem angry, I get more angry

* * *

Sonny is her best friend. She has been since day one of soccer practice freshman year. It was like an instant connection, an instant bond between them. Sonny can make her laugh when no one else can. She’s the easy presence in her life, the person that when she’s having a bad day she seeks her out, when she gets good news or bad news Sonny is the first person she wants to text about it. 

At least all of that was true. 

And then she started dating Russell. 

(Okay maybe it started before that. Maybe it started with a drunken kiss. Maybe she let her feelings get the better of her a few beers in and she risked it: risked the best thing in her life. Maybe, despite telling Tobin at 14, she hasn’t been able to find comfort in her skin, in her identity, in her sexuality. Maybe Sonny made her want to be comfortable and then they kissed and -

Everything’s ruined now. She doesn’t even know how it got this bad.)

Russell is a nice guy. He’s graduating with Tobin and Christen. He’s a business major. He tells funny jokes, he listens when she talks, he buys her flowers for occasions she hadn’t even thought were that special. Russell is exactly the type of person she could bring home to Mom and Dad. 

He’s strong, and he’s cute, and he’s a pretty good kisser. With a little guidance he’s pretty satisfying in bed. 

Maybe she’s not gay. Maybe she does like guys. College is a good time to figure it out. It’s a good time for self-exploration. Everyone says so. 

Russell’s biggest flaw is that Sonny clearly doesn’t like him. 

She tries not to show it. At first, at least. It’s little things, subtle things that maybe Lindsey wouldn’t notice if Sonny wasn’t her best friend, if they hadn’t spent SO much time together up until now. It’s things like the way her smile doesn’t reach her eyes when Lindsey talks about him. Or the way that Sonny never brings him up, never asks about him, just waits for Lindsey to mention him. Or the way that Sonny is so good about bringing up some other subject when Russell does come up. Or suddenly being busy if Russell wants to hang out. 

And Lindsey tries to include Sonny, she does. Maybe if they spent some time together, maybe Sonny would see. Maybe she’d realize that Russell isn’t bad for Lindsey. Lindsey needs him. 

(She doesn’t need the questions that circle through her head at night, keeping her up. She doesn’t need the constant replays of her kiss with Sonny at 2 a.m. until she’s slipping her hand into her underwear and coming quietly, careful not to move too much so that she doesn’t wake Russell.) 

And then Tobin and Christen and Russell graduate and Sonny stops trying. 

If Russell is coming over, Sonny leaves. Every time. If Lindsey’s on the phone with him, Sonny blasts music from her room. If he’s spending the night, Sonny sleeps elsewhere (and Lindsey doesn’t dare ask where). 

The worst part is, though, that Lindsey feels like she can’t even mention him. It’s like a switch flips. They’ll be hanging out, enjoying themselves, and Lindsey says his name, slips up, and Sonny shuts down. She closes off, she stops smiling, she gets snarky. It’s -

It’s fucking frustrating, is what it is. 

And she’s tried talking to her about it. She has. But everytime she says something, everytime she asks, “Why are you so weird about this?” Emily has an answer. She’s not being weird, Lindsey’s just imagining things. She wasn’t being mean about him, Lindsey’s being crazy. She isn’t avoiding him, she’s just busy. And the one time she’d broken, the one time she’d tried to plead that she wanted Sonny around more, that she needed her to be a bigger part in her life, the one time she’d said, “I just want you to spend time with him! For me! Just hang out with us! It’s really annoying that I can’t spend time with my best friend and my boyfriend at the same time!” she’d gotten back a gruff, “I don’t get why you’re so angry that I don’t want to spend time with your boyfriend. He’s not my friend, Lindsey. You are.”

(She doesn’t want to think that maybe this has nothing to do with Russell at all. Maybe it’s because she blew it. She blew it with a kiss. She kissed Sonny and, GOD, it was SUCH a fucking kiss, and she moaned and she let on just how much she wanted, just how much Sonny wasn’t just her best friend, and it spooked her. They haven’t been the same since. It’s all her fault and she knows it, but Russell is nice and he’s decent in bed and he treats her right and she cares about him a lot.) 

Sonny starts avoiding her too. Even if Russell isn’t around, she’s busy, she’s at the art studio or she’s out with friends. And Lindsey wishes she could call Tobin, wishes she could talk to her like she used to, but Tobin’s sorting out her own stuff, she’s dealing with therapy and Lindsey KNOWS she’s still heartbroken about what happened with Christen, and she’s so precariously starting to make good decisions, healthy decisions again. Lindsey can’t drag her into this. And Christen —

Christen feels off-limits. It feels like Sonny got Christen and Lindsey got Tobin in the break up. And she can’t talk to her other best friend because she’s the whole problem. 

(Maybe not the whole problem, but maybe it’s easier to blame Sonny these days, maybe she’s tired of being treated like she’s crazy, like she’s nothing, just because of a stupid kiss, because she’s choosing to date someone that Sonny hasn’t even given a chance.) 

* * *

Maybe it’s the heavy sigh. 

Maybe it’s the look of disdain when Lindsey informs her that Russell is coming over soon. 

Maybe it’s the way Sonny mutters, “Of, fucking, course,” under her breath but still loud enough for Lindsey to hear. 

Maybe it’s a combination of all three. 

Either way: Lindsey finally snaps. Good and properly. 

“WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM, SONNY??” 

Sonny freezes in place halfway across the room where she’s packing up some of her books from the bookshelf, ready to head home for the summer. She looks at Lindsey with eyes wide. And Lindsey knows her outburst was a little loud, a little sudden, but in this moment she is so far past caring. 

“Seriously! Like why do you have such a huge fucking chip on your shoulders about him? You could date someone too, you know? Then maybe you wouldn’t mope around here all the fucking time hating him.”

That’s a little unfair. She doesn’t mope around. She regularly disappears, but instead of it it being because she has other plans, Lindsey’s almost certain it’s because Russell is around instead. 

“It’s not healthy, you know. Like fucking...do things because you WANT to do them, not because my boyfriend is here.”

“Lindsey, that’s not-”

“I know, I know. ‘That’s not what’s going on. I don’t hate Russell. You’re just imagining things.’ But NO! I’m fucking NOT, Sonny!” 

Sonny’s jaw sets. Lindsey can practically see the wheels turning in her head, trying to come up with an excuse, trying to come up with some way to spin it so that she’s not at fault. Lindsey watches the muscles in her jaw work as she clenches her teeth tighter. 

“What, no excuse this time?” Lindsey challenges. 

“You know what? Fuck you!” Sonny replies. “You want to talk about unhealthy? Your entire LIFE revolves around Russell. When is Russell coming over? When is Russell going to text you back? When is Russell not working so that you can not have classes at those times? He’s just some guy you’re screwing and you’re acting like he’s the most important person in the world!” 

The words hit her like a slap to the face and she takes a step back. She wasn’t expecting such vehemence from Sonny. Not really. 

But Sonny’s cheeks are red and her eyes are narrowed and her fists are clenched. She’s never seen Sonny mad like this before. 

She doesn’t back down. 

“Just some guy I’m screwing? He’s my BOYFRIEND, Sonny, not some one-night stand! Excuse me for actually wanting to spend time with my boyfriend. Excuse me for trying to build a future with someone instead of just hoping that a relationship is magically going to fall into my lap while I’m playing Xbox or holed up in an art studio.”

“Build a future? You’re talking like you’re gonna marry him or something, Lindsey.” Sonny laughs, but it’s a bitter laugh, not at all playful like she’s used to from her. 

“Well, I might! 28% of people marry their college boyfriend. Maybe Russell and I are one of that 28%!” Except they’re not. She knows they’re not. As much as she likes him, as much as she enjoys being around him, she’s not head over heels in love with him the way she thinks she should be about the person she marries. 

Sonny stares there, open mouthed, looking dumbfounded. “You’re fucking kidding me. You can’t marry that asshole, Lindsey!”

“Oh, now he’s an asshole? Why? Because he actually finds me attractive?”

Sonny’s brows furrow. “What? No —”

“Because that is actually allowed, you know. Some people are allowed to think I’m hot. Some people are allowed to want to date me. And you know what? I don’t need you to fucking approve of them. You’re my best friend, or you’re supposed to be, anyway. You’re not my dad.”

Sonny opens and closes her mouth a few times, then says, “No, obviously I’m not your dad. I never—Lindsey, he’s an asshole because he’s so not good enough for you! He doesn’t appreciate what he has! He doesn’t even come to our games!”

“Not everything is about soccer, Sonny! He has work and other friends. I don’t expect him to be at my beck and call every second of every day!” 

“And yet he’s over here all the damn time!” Sonny counters. “Sometimes he’s over here so much that I fucking feel smothered by him and he’s not even dating me!”

“Well, if that’s how you feel, maybe you shouldn’t live here anymore!” 

Sonny freezes again, shock etched on her features. “What?” 

“Maybe we shouldn’t live together next year,” Lindsey doubles down. The words feel like an ultimatum that she wasn’t planning on issuing. She doesn’t really want that to happen. She just wants Sonny to fucking back off of Russell, to give him a chance, to accept that he is a part of Lindsey’s life. 

Sonny purses her lips and for a moment Lindsey thinks that she’s going to cry. Fuck, if she starts crying then there’s no way that Lindsey won’t crumble, won’t run to her and hug her and apologize. This fight has gotten so out of hand. 

Instead in a voice that is low and steady, eyes fixed straight on Lindsey, Sonny replies, “Maybe we just shouldn’t be friends next year.” 

* * *

They pack the rest of the apartment in shifts. If one of them is home, the other is not. Just like that, it’s over: two years of friendship collapsed in the blink of an eye. When Sonny leaves for home, she doesn’t even leave a goodbye note. 

By fall, Lindsey has deleted her number from her phone. 

She tells herself good riddance. She tells herself that Sonny was never that great of a friend anyway if something like a boy could come between them. She tells herself she doesn’t miss her. 

(She tells herself that her heart doesn’t ache unbearably in her chest when she thinks of her.)


	10. the 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> College is over and real-life has started. A chance run-in during a visit to the city has Emily wondering what might have been.

####  I persist and resist the temptation to ask you  
If one thing had been different  
Would everything be different today?

* * *

She sees it on instagram. The typical “I said YES!” with a flashy diamond ring on a very specific finger. 

She doesn’t expect it to feel like quite such a punch to the gut. She doesn’t expect a highlight reel of all the good times they had, all the moments when she thought that maybe -

But there’s no use in thinking maybe. Window closed. There she is: smiling, happy, engaged to someone else. 

Lindsey isn’t hers. She never really was. 

* * *

She runs into her unexpectedly. She’s in town visiting Chris and Lindsey lives in the same city; a fact that Emily had conveniently pushed out of her mind. 

It’s awkward. The stilted hellos, the unsureness of the greetings, of how to act, how to touch, how to smile. It’s been almost two years since they’ve bumped into each other on campus, pretending that the other didn’t exist, that the history between them wasn’t— 

Lindsey is headed to lunch with some friends to discuss her bridal shower and Emily was just out picking up some beer, and it feels like there are chasms between them as they move past the greetings to polite goodbyes. 

And then Lindsey’s calling after her, saying, “Hey, are you free tonight? Want to grab dinner?” 

* * *

She feels the years that have fallen in between them vanish at the first hug, the way that Lindsey pulls her in close, holds her tight, squeezes her a moment too long. 

And then they’re sitting at dinner, talking like no time has passed at all, like their final fight never happened. Cracking stupid inside jokes that aren’t even relevant anymore, giggling like they’re back in college, eyes catching across the table when the waiter drops an entire appetizer plate into the water jug at a nearby table before they both burst into laughter. 

The stories flow, mostly about friends in common, times they’ve shared. 

Lindsey asks after Christen and Emily asks about Tobin, and it feels a little like catching up on her divorced parents after a split. For a moment there is tension in the air, lingering, unspoken. 

And then Lindsey says, “So we have to get dessert here because they do the BEST chocolate lava cake,” and Emily’s face is brightening, the promise of chocolate and the evening’s company enough to make her bury the split-second awkwardness beneath the all-too-familiar feeling of trying to make Lindsey laugh.

(Lindsey barely mentions the fiancé. Emily doesn’t ask.)

* * *

All too soon the evening is drawing to a close. Meals have been finished. Dessert plates have been scraped clean. Even coffees have turned cold before being slurped out of their mugs. Around them chairs are being put up, the last few tables are being bussed, and someone is beginning to sweep in a far corner. 

Emily feels this tug in her chest, an ache that feels directly connected to Lindsey. As they stand and grab their coats and make their way towards the door she can practically hear time running out. 

For this moment in time they had it back, they had them back, and now it’s gone, slipping through the cracks, just like all of the potential that Emily had once hoped they’d had. 

The night has turned chilly when they step outside and Emily offers to walk Lindsey to her car. She’s not ready to say goodbye. Not again. 

But soon enough she’s shuffling her feet beside a blue Subaru Outback. She almost says, “Could you own a gayer car?” but she bites it back, the ring flashing on Lindsey’s finger a reminder that she’s engaged to marry a man. 

“I’m really glad I ran into you,” Lindsey says, her hand warm on Emily’s arm, even through Emily’s coat. 

“Yeah. Me too. It was- It was really good to catch up.” 

And Lindsey isn’t moving, isn’t trying to get into her car or get away, and Emily thinks, for a fleeting moment, “What if?” 

What if Lindsey had never dated Russell? What if Emily had followed up that night after their kiss? What if they’d never had that big fight, or Emily had tried harder to be tolerant of Russell, be supportive? Would she be the one to have slid a diamond ring onto Lindsey’s finger in place of the guy she’s with now? Would she have been there to be the shoulder to cry on when Russell and Lindsey finally split? Instead of someone contemplating comments on instagram that she never ends up posting anyway. 

“God, you look really good, Em. Like...I can’t believe it’s already been two years, and I just -”

Lindsey cuts herself short, but Emily wills her to continue, wishes it with every fiber of her being. 

“It feels almost like fate that I ran into you today,” Lindsey finally adds. 

And Emily smiles, keeps her eyes on green-blue ones that are so familiar, that still crinkle in the same way in the corners when Lindsey smiles. She wants to reach out, but she doesn’t. Instead she nods. “Yeah. It was...I’m really glad.” 

The moment feels frozen in time, just the two of them, beside a blue Subaru, staring into each other’s eyes, and then Lindsey does move, her lips soft on Emily’s cheek, burning into her skin, arms wrapped tightly around her. 

“Don’t stay away so long next time, okay?” 

Emily nods into her shoulder. “I won’t.” 

“We need to stay in touch better,” comes out muffled by her hair. 

The words settle on Emily, the “we” standing out strong. It’s an acknowledgment that the fault lies with both of them, that communication is a two way street. “Yeah, we do,” she agrees. 

The hug lingers a moment more, and then Lindsey is stepping away with a smile that Emily thinks looks a little sad, and she’s climbing into her car and waving goodbye. 

Emily stands on the curb and watches her pull away. 

She can’t stop the flood of thoughts that she didn’t say. 

One stands out above the rest:  _ I think maybe you were it for me. _

The taillights of Lindsey’s car have long faded into the distance before she finds the willpower to shuffle away back to Christen’s. 

* * *

The text comes late and she answers in the affirmative before she can think better of it, ignoring the stabbing of pain in her chest, ignoring the way her lips had been aching to close the gap to Lindsey earlier in the night. 

**Lindsey (1:07 a.m.):** Would you like to come to the bridal shower when we have it?

**Emily (1:08 a.m.):** Yeah! Of course!

**Lindsey (1:10 a.m.):** Great! I’ll make sure you’re on the list.


	11. this is me trying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobin navigates life after Christen and decides that maybe it's best to really start trying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This chapter discusses depression and slight suicidality

#### I just wanted to you know that this is me trying

* * *

She can feel it at her core now: the chill that never seems to warm, even in heated moments. It’s a dull ache that her entire body centers itself around—the eye of the hurricane—keeping her awake at night. 

Actually, she’s not quite sure what keeps her awake at night, but she is sure that it is an almagomation of tiny torture devices; things so small that they’re painful only when experienced en masse. The drip of a leaky faucet that echoes in from the bathroom, the paced rhythm of the ticking clock, the low and quiet buzz of electricity keeping the house functioning, somehow they all prevent her from making sense of the thoughts in her head.

Where there once was Christen, her nights are now filled with an onslaught of normally imperceptible stimuli that her body refuses to ignore and a chill she can’t shake. 

On paper, things are better. She’s dating steadily. She has a decent job. She lives in the city where she’s always wanted to live—even if it is where she and Christen always planned to live together. She goes to happy hour and laughs with her friends and she throws herself into art and rec soccer on the weekends. She’s got the life she’s supposed to want, even if it’s missing the woman of her dreams. 

And, she’ll take the insomnia. She’ll take the circles under her eyes tomorrow. It’s her penance for expecting that happiness comes when you blow everything up. It is the cost owed for responding to the magnetic pull of opportunity: for a slip of the tongue, her hands gripping strange hips, a finger sliding along her waistband. She boarded this train with a one-way ticket. It’s too late to purchase a round-trip fare. 

A different body lies beside her now, but it's still the wrong one. She looks over at the faint outline of her bed companion as she stirs slightly. Tobin shifts down, worried that she will be caught awake and thinking. How could she possibly explain this? Any attempt would at best signal her irredeemability and at worst leave her colder than she is now. 

The space between them is a vast tundra of blankets and sheets. They could not be further apart and still be in bed together. Still she keeps a single toe over the edge. It is as if she is an actor in a classic film: keeping one foot on the floor to remind her there’s nothing real about this. Certainly it’s not the love she had with Christen.

This isn’t real. Not for her. It isn’t right. Something that becomes all too clear when they’re wrapped in each other’s bodies and her building arousal suddenly wanes, her mouth dry with worry and regret. In those moments she tries desperately to think of anything to return her body to the present, to the reality, to the feelings that should be overwhelming her. She tries to talk her way back into it, muttering “god, yes” and “please” and “right there, babe.” Far too often, when that all fails she finds herself with her eyes closed thinking of Christen. 

Last night was the same. She’d imagined Christen’s hands tracing the edges of her body, pushing into her, Christen’s lips on her skin, Christen’s voice in her ear urging her on. The surge she felt at the thought had made her shudder, it had brought her to the edge, and then it had made her feel sick. _She shouldn’t be having those thoughts_. 

She hopes it wasn’t that obvious, but fears it was. The look she’d received made her wonder whether she’d whispered “fuck, Chris, yes,” as she bit her lip and her hips shot forward. She’d felt physically ill afterward. The moment she got the chance she’d stumbled into the bathroom and fallen to her knees before dry heaving violently. 

She rolls over and takes out her phone and types a message: “Hi Christen, it’s Tobin. Not sure if you still have my number. Sorry if it’s late but I just have a quick question, if you’re willing to indulge me.” Her thumb hovers over the send button for several seconds before she closes her eyes and presses it. 

It’s 4:30am. _Surely, Christen won’t answer, but there’s always hope._ She watches the message for 10 minutes, wishing that she could retract it, but praying that Christen will reply. She types, “Would you care if I was gone?” before deleting it and replacing it with “Could you ever love me again?” But she doesn’t press send. She won’t, even if Christen replies right now. 

At least she thinks she won’t. 

Her ribs seem to press in on her lungs as she wonders whether she wants to know the answer to the question if that answer is “ _no_.”

_Is false hope better than none?_

Eventually her eyes go blurry and she loses focus. Her thoughts swirl in her head and she starts to hear the clock ticking again. 

_Maybe she can get back to sleep before sunlight breaks through the blinds. Maybe she can shake this whole thing off in her dreams._

She drops her phone next to herself on the bed and lets her eyes close. 

* * *

She wakes sometime around 10:45 to the smell of coffee. It’s been three years since they shared a bed, but she still reaches for Christen as she wakes up. A sense of overwhelming regret and foreboding keeps her body pinned to the mattress as she wonders whether Christen might have replied to her message. 

_Why does she always think of Christen when she’s at her weakest?_

She takes her phone off of the nightstand and sees there are no notifications. She can’t decide if that is for the best or worst and she stares at the ceiling for a few minutes more before dragging herself out of bed slowly. 

The air in her apartment feels too thin to breathe and her joints feel compressed. She’s never been mountain climbing, but she thinks it might feel something like this. 

When she gets into the kitchen, she finds a note sitting in front of the stool where she expected to find another person.

> _Tobin,_
> 
> _I was trying to plug in your phone for you this morning and I noticed you had a message from her. I didn’t mean to invade but I couldn’t help it._
> 
> _I guess I’m glad I did._
> 
> _You seemed off last night and now I know why._
> 
> _I do like you (a lot), but I can’t be someone’s second choice._
> 
> _It’s been almost four years, Tobin. I hope one day you want something you can have as much as something you can’t._
> 
> _Until then, goodbye._
> 
> _XO,_   
>  _Inez_
> 
> _P.S. I made coffee and waited for you to wake up to talk about this, but it was just too hard to wait. So, I grabbed the few things I had around here and I took back that travel mug I gave you. If you want it or me again, you know what to do._

Tobin immediately opens her phone to see what message she missed. The thought crosses her mind that the behavior is a little fucked up—she’s just read a letter telling her that Inez recognized she was Tobin's second choice—still, she can't fight the desperation: Christen responded. 

Her glimmer of hope is squashed as she reads the words.

**Christen (6:07am):** Tobin. What are you doing? Is your question about us? We can't do this again.

Tobin feels herself crumbling. Tears swell under her eyelids and trickle softly onto her eyelashes. They gently whisper, _“You are hopeless.”_

She swallows the thought and lets it start to shred her inside. She feeds it everything it asks for and her mind starts to shutter. Before she realizes it she is on the road, feeling entirely numb, heading to the overlook outside of town. 

Tobin steadies herself on the second railing of the fence near the edge. Everything feels muffled—as if she’s floating underwater. She is sure her body should be shaking but she can’t tell whether it actually is. She takes a deep breath and leans slightly forward to look down, feeling her stomach drop and instinctively drawing her head back from the edge. Through the sound of her heart pulsing in her ears, she hears other people approaching. She doesn’t really understand why, but the presence of others fills her with shame. She takes out her phone to pretend she’s up this high just to take pictures of the view and finds a notification.

**Chris** (12:03 PM): ???

She curses under her breath and climbs back down off of the railing.

_Fuck, what is she doing?_

* * *

#### At least I'm trying

* * *

Christen’s apartment door looks a lot like the one she had in college. She even has the same door mat. There’s no reason she should have changed it, but it still feels like she’s standing on a relic from a better life. She can’t help but feel that standing on Christen’s porch right now, playing out their potential conversation, is some sort of cosmic humor. 

_Perhaps they are doomed to repeat one another’s actions for eternity._

She takes a deep breath and raps four times on the door. 

_Nothing happens._

She knocks a bit louder.

_It doesn’t even sound like anyone is inside._

She mutters verbal abuses to herself as she fishes a receipt out of her wallet and a pen from her pocket. She holds the front of the receipt against the door and scrawls across the back: 

> _Hi Chris,_
> 
> _I know I might not be welcome, but I stopped by to try to see you anyway. I don’t know anything, but I know I miss you. I know you said we can’t do this again, but I want you back in my life in any way you’ll have me, so this is me trying._
> 
> _-T_

She folds the receipt up and shoves the end behind the door seal, willing it to stay there until Christen gets home.

* * *

She doesn’t hear back from Christen. She doesn’t really expect to, and yet it still feels like a punch to the gut. If she’s going to try, though, she has to actually try. 

Her first therapist is a complete and utter wash. They sit there for half the session without Tobin really saying anything, far more comfortable with uncomfortable silences than the woman had anticipated, clearly. 

She gives it two sessions before she tells the receptionist she isn’t going to schedule a follow-up appointment and she starts the whole search over again. 

(Some days searching the web and making the phone call is too much work. Some days she’s getting by just fine anyway. Some days she calls.)

Therapy, once she finds a therapist she actually likes, leaves her feeling raw and drained. It’s so much that she usually isn’t up for much afterwards except a nap. There are so many questions that Tobin wishes she had better answers for. And there’s homework. She hadn’t anticipated therapy homework.

(And the meds help, they do, somewhat. But then there’s the knowledge that she’s going to be on them forever and it feels a little like failure all over again.) 

Some days she doesn’t want to try. Some days she wants to give up. 

But there’s a reason she’s trying. It’s not just for Christen either, she realizes when Perry comments about how she seems good these days. She’s trying and it sucks and it’s fucking hard and somedays she really hates it and Christen still hasn’t made contact, but dammit she’s doing it.


	12. illicit affairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily finally gets Lindsey, but she's left wondering whether having Lindsey only a little will ever be enough.

#### You showed me colors you know I can't see with anyone else  
And you know damn well  
For you, I would ruin myself  
A million little times

* * *

It starts with a breath, with a sharp inhale at the wrong moment. It starts with a lingering stare and words she dare not speak. It starts with a gasped, “Fuck,” and then Lindsey’s lips are on hers. 

They’re hot and needy (and wrong, part of her knows, but it feels so damn right), and Emily kisses back. She kisses back like she’s always wanted to and she slides her hands through Lindsey’s hair and pulls her in closer. 

“Fuck!” gets gasped again against her lips and Emily swallows the word with a kiss. 

They don’t say “we can’t” or “we shouldn’t” as they strip the clothes from each other’s bodies on the way to Emily’s bedroom. They leave the “this is wrong” unsaid as hands explore exposed skin. 

For now it’s just the two of them, in Emily’s room, in Emily’s bed, mouths on bare skin, fingers probing, thrusting, lips meeting in a flurry of passion and repressed urges. 

(And Emily knows, somewhere in the back of her mind, that Lindsey will leave, she’ll go back home, she’ll go back to him, but just in this moment, with the taste of Lindsey on her tongue, with Lindsey’s hands twisted in her hair, Lindsey’s voice gasping her name, she’ll forget.)

* * *

They invite her to dinner as a couple and Emily sits there with a forced smile, not making eye contact with Lindsey. She pretends that she doesn’t know what Lindsey looks like naked as her fiancé comments about how nice it is that Emily ended up in the same city as them. She pretends that she doesn’t know the way that Lindsey’s skin feels beneath her fingertips and her lips as she asks politely about the wedding plans. She pretends that she doesn’t know what Lindsey’s voice sounds like ragged and moaning her name as she waves them goodbye before they head off to their cars separately. 

(She pretends to herself that she doesn’t want it again and again and again, even though she knows that this can’t end well and someone will end up heartbroken—probably her.)

* * *

Lindsey invites her over under the guise of helping her sort through her clothes, deciding what to pack and what to donate before she moves in with HIM. The moment that Lindsey opens the door, every wall that Emily had mentally erected collapses, every word she told herself about how it could never ever happen again, how it was enough that it happened once, falls away, meaningless. The moment Lindsey opens the door and pulls her into her, kisses her, murmurs how much she wants her as she backs her into the wall, any shred of self-control Emily might have imagined she’d had forsakes her. 

“Linds-” she gasps as Lindsey’s lips make their way down her throat. 

“Been daydreaming about touching you since the other day.” Her hands are needy as they slide under the waistband of Emily’s jeans, tugging the button undone. “Fuck, you’re so sexy, Em. I almost combusted at dinner the other night.”

_With him_ , a part of Emily’s brain adds, but she ignores it. She has no choice, because she’s gasping at the first brush of Lindsey’s fingers through her, at how wet she knows she is already, from so little. 

“I need to taste you, Em,” Lindsey murmurs in her ear, and then Lindsey is on her knees, pulling her jeans off and tossing them away, lifting Emily’s leg over her shoulder and-

“Fuck! Fuck! Lindsey! Fuck!” 

She can’t get purchase on the wall and Lindsey’s tongue is unrelenting, greedily working her up faster than she’d thought possible. “Linds!” she gasps again, but Lindsey is strong beneath her, body solid and steady, and Emily lets her hold her up, lets Lindsey’s hands press firmly into her skin, cupping her breasts, pinning her hips to the wall, as she rides Lindsey’s mouth to an orgasm so intense she almost collapses from it. 

* * *

(It’s only later, once she’s leaving, once they’re both sated, the taste of Lindsey still fresh on Emily’s tongue, the scent of sex and sweat lingering in the air, that she notices. It’s only on her way out that she sees. 

Lindsey had turned around any picture that had him in it. 

She swallows down the feeling that evokes and tells herself it’s enough.)

  
  


(It’s not enough. She doesn’t think it will ever be enough.)

* * *

It becomes more frequent. It feels like the more she tells herself she needs to stop it, the more she can’t stay away. 

And Lindsey-

Lindsey’s skin feels soft beneath her fingers. Lindsey’s eyes fill with lust at the slightest innuendo. Lindsey’s lips press needily into hers so hard she thinks it might bruise. Lindsey’s fingers press into her skin, tweak her nipples, thrust into her just perfectly. 

Lindsey fits against her body in ways that she’d only imagined she might. 

Lindsey makes her feel things she’s never felt before. 

* * *

They rent a room. 

This part is infrequent. 

Neither of them has the funds to make it a regular thing paying cash, but it lets them take their time, take their space, away from anything remotely real life. 

They rent a room at a swanky hotel and they order room service and wear nothing but the provided plush robes and they pretend, for a night here and there, that this is real, that they’re what’s meant to be. 

They rent a room and Emily puts ice between her lips and drags it slowly down Lindsey’s body, letting the water pool on her stomach as it melts, watching as Lindsey’s nipple hardens as she drags it around her, listening as Lindsey gasps when her ice cold tongue dips into her for its first taste. 

They rent a room and Lindsey ties her wrists to the headboard with scarves, leaves hickeys all over her chest, and teases her until she begs to come, begs to kiss, begs to just be touched properly, _please, baby_. 

They rent a room and Emily gets to lie next to Lindsey at night and hold her close and fall asleep to the sound of her breathing, to the feel of her wrapped in her arms, to the warmth of her naked skin pressed against her own. 

They rent a room and for a night here and there they live in the lie. 

* * *

She wants to tell someone. No, she NEEDS to tell someone. She needs SOMEONE to know that she gets to kiss Lindsey, touch her, unravel her with her fingers and her tongue. She needs someone to know that sometimes Lindsey is hers. 

And Christen knows her. Christen knows THEM. She’s going to figure it out. Christen knows how she feels about Lindsey, it won’t be that big of a leap to tell her that they-

But she can’t. She’s sitting in Christen’s kitchen eating dinner and the words die on her tongue every single time she starts to say it. 

“What’s going on with you?” 

The words sound more than a little accusing, and Emily almost chokes on the food in her mouth. “Nothing. Just a good day at work.”

Christen eyes her suspiciously. 

“So have you gotten in touch with Tobin yet?” 

She wants to smack her forehead or clamp her hand over her mouth or take the words back. That’s one sure way to shut down a conversation with Christen these days. 

Christen’s eyes stay on her food, her fork picking at it without actually scooping up her next bite. Emily watches the hard swallow that travels down her throat. 

This isn’t where any of them thought they’d end up when they were in college. She’d thought that Tobin and Christen were meant to be. And then Lindsey had gotten Tobin and she’d gotten Christen in the break up and maybe that was the first real crack in their own relationship. 

(It wasn’t. She knows, but it doesn’t feel like it helped.) 

“You told Lindsey you’re in love with her yet?” comes Christen’s reply without looking up. 

And Emily does choke this time. “What? I don’t. There’s not- She’s getting married!” 

The words sting as they leave her mouth. 

(Christen’s not right. She can’t be right. She can’t fall in love with someone who will never be hers.)

* * *

“You smell different.”

Lindsey pauses, her lips hovering just above Emily’s throat, and Emily regrets the comment instantly. She wants to pull her back down, keep her lips against her, keep her doing what she was doing. 

“Different bad?” Lindsey asks. 

“No!” Emily assures her. “No. Never bad. Just not like your perfume, that’s all.” 

She feels the heat from Lindsey’s blush, feels the way Lindsey’s fingers tighten on her hip just a little. “Oh, yeah, that’s his favorite scent and with you I just wanted to be...me.” 

The words cut through her like a knife, but Lindsey goes right on kissing her, kissing down her throat, across her collarbone, lips sucking on her breast and Emily thinks, “This is wrong. She’s not mine. She should be with him.”

And then she arches her breast into Lindsey’s mouth and she moans and at the back of her mind the words echo. She lets her fingers tangle in Lindsey’s hair while her chest aches. She gasps as she comes, but she can’t get enough breath, she can’t manage to fill her lungs. 

She thinks maybe she’s drowning in Lindsey, but she’s not sure that Lindsey even sees. 

* * *

Hotels get replaced by cramped backseats. Lindsey rides her fingers, pants against her lips, tells her, “Fuck!” Tells her, “Yes!” Tells her, “Just like that!” 

Tells her, “I’ve never come so hard in my life.”

* * *

She pretends sometimes, late at night, that it’s the two of them. That’s how it’s meant to be. That’s how they’re supposed to end up. 

She tells herself that when Lindsey lets slip an “I love you,” she means it as more than a friend. She tells herself that when Lindsey tells her she’s gorgeous, she’s special, she does things to her that she can’t describe, that it means “more than him”. 

She lets herself believe that Lindsey will wake up one day and see, end things with him, come to her and tell her this is how it was always meant to be. 

She lets herself believe, lets herself pretend, and then she curls up in cold sheets alone and closes her eyes against the tears that threaten to fall. 

* * *

“I can’t keep doing this!”

The parking lot is empty save for them. It always is when they meet, but this time…

Maybe it’s the way she smells like nothing...again. Like she’s intentionally kept any signs that they’re together absent. Or maybe it’s the way that she started with “I don’t have a lot of time tonight.” Or maybe it’s just that it’s been months now and Emily-

Emily’s fallen irrevocably in love with Lindsey and Lindsey still slips on her engagement ring and goes home to her fiancé after every encounter while Emily goes home to an empty bed that feels colder and lonelier with each passing night. 

“Em, come on…” Lindsey pleads. “Doing what?” 

Emily glares. “I can’t keep being your dirty little secret, Lindsey.” The words come out cold despite the fire burning inside of her. 

Lindsey gasps like she’s been slapped and Emily wants to reach out, wants to console, but she’s still uncomfortably wet from the orgasm that Lindsey just gave her. She still tastes Lindsey on her tongue and she-

“I can’t keep doing this, Linds. I can’t keep going home alone while you go home to him.”

The words come out pleading now. 

“He’s my fiancé.” It sounds like an excuse and it hits like a sackful of bricks. 

“Exactly,” Emily replies sadly. “And I’m...I’m tired of being your nothing, Lindsey.”

“Em, you’re not! You’re- You’re so special! You’re-”

“Stop! Just...stop, Lindsey. Please. I -” Her voice is cracking now and she can feel her will caving the longer Lindsey looks at her like THAT, but—

“You’re going to break my heart, Linds. You’re already doing it because...Because I love you and—”

Lindsey’s shaking her head, she’s not hiding the tears that have begun to stream down her cheeks, and Emily wants to take them away, to make the pain stop, but she’s hurting too. She’s been hurting. 

“Please don’t do this,” Lindsey sobs, but Emily takes a step back. 

She closes her eyes and does it again. 

“I have to go, Linds. I’ll...I don’t think I’ll make it to the wedding. I...I’ll send a gift, okay? I- Have a good life, Linds.”

“Emily!” 

She turns around and walks away.

With each step she fights the urge to turn around and run back.

Lindsey doesn’t chase after her. 

* * *

Lindsey knocks on her door late. 

She almost doesn’t answer. 

She shouldn’t answer. 

She has nothing left to say. 

But she peers through the peephole and Lindsey’s brilliant blue-green eyes are rimmed red and she’s biting her lip in that way that means she really has to say something. 

“Just to talk,” she mutters under her breath. 

She opens the door and they stand there, staring, just for a moment. 

She opens the door and Lindsey gasps, “Em! I’m sorry, I —”

She opens the door and it feels like all of the air gets sucked straight out of Emily’s lungs. 

She opens the door and then she pulls Lindsey inside, lips hot and demanding, fingers already tugging on clothes. 

She opens the door she shouldn’t open and she tells herself one last time. One last time and then she’ll really stop. One last time and then she’ll walk away for good. 

One last time and it will be enough. 

(It’s not enough. It will never be enough. Not with her.)

  
  



	13. exile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobin's still trying and Christen's still not ready to let her, but maybe fate has other ideas with a chance encounter at a bar.

#### You were my town, now I’m in exile seeing you out.

* * *

She’s at a dive bar, two whiskeys in, telling the bartender about how much she misses Christen when, as if she manifested it with fear and want, a couple walks into the bar. Something pulls Tobin’s eyes toward the door where she finds Christen giggling as she walks in on the arm of someone else. 

They’re huddled together, all smiles and flowing hair, eyes locking on and off and Tobin feels like somebody has taken a sledgehammer to her stomach. Her blood runs cold and part of her wants to shout out, to let Christen know she’s there, she sees her, she sees this, and part of her can’t seem to open her mouth. She stares, riveted, as the beauty settling in the stool across the small table from Christen leans across and murmurs something that makes Christen burst into unrestrained laughter. 

She used to do that. She used to make Christen smile and laugh. 

And now this woman is. This woman at this bar right in front of her, and— 

Tobin makes it to the bathroom in time to dry heave. Nothing comes of it, but the world spins for a minute as she grips the sink, splashes her face, breathes deeply. 

“Water,” she mutters to her reflection, tracing the dark circles under her eyes, the way her hair looks a little wild. She straightens, fixes it, tries a smile. 

It looks hollow. 

She walks back to the bar, keeps her eyes resolutely focussed on her seat, and asks the bartender for a glass of water as she sits back down. She forces herself not to look. Not to spy. 

Christen hasn’t noticed her, and it’s probably for the best. 

She’s not...not ready yet. She’s still working, still improving. Too many days still feel like a battle. 

And then Christen’s laughter ripples through the bar again. She’d know it anywhere, pick it out in the most crowded room. It’s ingrained in her, marking her very soul. 

And she has to look, she has to turn.

She turns and she looks and green eyes lock on hers and freeze. 

* * *

#### Those eyes add insult to injury

* * *

There’s a different vibe to the bar tonight. She’s been there before. Everyone has to have their favorite dive bar, after all. But tonight it feels different. 

She doesn’t really focus on it, though, doesn’t bother to investigate, because her cousin is recounting the story about how her uncle accidentally drank egg beaters instead of eggnog last Christmas and it’s absolutely hilarious. 

They settle at a table and get lost in memories of good times. The time they painted her dad’s wine cellar black when their babysitter fell asleep. The time that she accidentally punched Channing in the nose because she thought she’d measured it out properly but hadn’t accounted for the way her arm would hyperextend when she actually threw the punch. The time at another cousin’s wedding when their dog had escaped and ended up diving into the cake. 

It was easy to get caught up, to relax, to ignore the way that something felt different. 

And then she was momentarily distracted by the movement of someone heading back from the bathroom, and her blood ran cold as she realized what exactly was different tonight. 

She tears her eyes away, focuses on her cousin, forces her ears and her mind to listen to the story now being told. The one about how her neighbor had stopped by and caught her with one foot on the kitchen sink, on on a stool, shrieking as she realized that there was a second wasp in her house besides the one she’d trapped and was awkwardly trying to shepherd out of the half-screened window. When she laughs this time, it’s too loud. She can feel it. She can hear it. She can see it in the way her cousin’s brows furrow just a little. 

She knows that Tobin will have heard it, too, and she can’t help it, she looks. 

She looks and familiar brown eyes, filled with sadness, meet hers. 

She looks and the smile drops from her face and she can’t quite swallow, can’t quite breathe, because despite all the years, despite all the attempts to forget and to move on, despite the sadness etched on her face, Tobin is as beautiful as ever. 

Tobin whose note is burning a hole in the drawer of her bedside table. She couldn’t bring herself to make contact, but couldn’t manage to throw it away either. 

She’s tried to shake her from her life for years and she can’t. Somehow everything always comes back to Tobin. 

* * *

Tobin isn’t sure what to do. She’s caught in Christen’s gaze, frozen in place, barely able to breathe. There was a time when she could read every expression that Christen had, but now, she’s locked in a silent calculation of the lines on her face, trying to figure out just what Christen might be feeling in this moment. 

She looks _sad_ , Tobin thinks.

_No, maybe that's pity._

Maybe Christen can tell that Tobin is slightly tipsy and totally alone. Maybe it’s written all over her face how much she still pines for Christen, how much simply seeing her, being in the same space as her has affected her. But Christen—she’s moved on. That look in her eyes is nothing more than pity for a girl she once loved. A girl who was stupid enough to ruin it all.

Tobin finally looks down at the floor and shifts in her seat. The room feels hotter, the world feels like it’s spinning faster. She swallows hard, trying to decide what to do before she finally takes a deep breath and adjusts her expression hoping that she can summon a look that says, “I love you. Leave her, come back to me.” It’s stupid, but it’s all she’s got. 

But when she musters the courage to look back up Christen is looking away. Back at _her_. 

Tobin turns back to her water, gulps it down, and asks for another. She should leave. She should stand up and walk out of here. She should leave Christen to her date. Christen’s moved on and as painful as that is, if that’s what’s best for her, she should let her. 

But— 

But this is the first time she’s seen Christen in months. It’s like the mere presence of Christen makes her feel slightly more complete—slightly more whole. She can’t just _go_. 

She tries not to look again, tries to control herself, just a little, but Christen has always been magnetic, she’s always held her attention the way that nobody else has. Why should now be any different? She looks and she hates herself as she does it, but she can’t stop. She feels like the walls of the bar have closed in—bringing Christen closer to her while simultaneously threatening to crush her where she sits. 

As she drinks her second glass of water, she steals glances across the room at familiar green eyes, flowing hair with soft curls that she remembers, all too well, getting to run her fingers through, getting to tuck behind Christen’s ear as she leaned in for a kiss. 

It takes her a while—longer than she would have before, before she went and fucked everything up, when they were actually still them—but eventually she starts to notice a change in Christen: her laughter is quieter, she looks more distracted. The conversation with her date looks more forced. She sees the way Christen clenches her jaw, the way her brows are slightly furrowed, the way her hands grip the table. 

Tobin tells herself it’s wishful thinking. She tells herself it’s the alcohol. 

_She tells herself there’s hope_.

Then, without warning, Christen stands up and makes her way out the side exit. She leaves her date sitting there, who, for her part, looks unperturbed: she just picks up her phone and idly scrolls. 

Tobin freezes, unsure, but her body has a mind of its own and she’s on her feet, throwing cash down on the bar and following Christen through the side exit before she’s even stopped to consider what she might do if she actually catches up to her. She feels Christen's date’s eyes on her as she crosses the room, but she doesn’t care at all. She won’t take the time to wonder whether she knows who Tobin is. Whether Christen told her she needed to leave to avoid her ex. 

She pushes out the door and yells Christen’s name into the night air, hoping the call will reach her. 

It does—because Christen is there, just outside the door, eyes filled with tears as she whispers back Tobin’s name in a strained, raspy voice. 

* * *

Christen’s not sure what she thought she would get out of coming outside—she hoped she’d be able to breathe again, in a way she hasn’t since she noticed Tobin was in the room, but the air isn’t different enough out here. It’s still heavy and hard to inhale and she can’t help but feel pulled back inside. Where Tobin is. 

Tears start to fill her eyes as the door crashes open and Tobin yells her name. She barely manages to croak, “Tobin,” just in time for brown eyes to meet her own. 

Christen can barely breathe, it feels like she’s drowning in air as Tobin opens and closes her mouth. 

She can see now, the dark circles under her eyes, the sadness in them. She wants to reach out, but she doesn’t. Tobin isn’t hers anymore. Tobin hasn’t been hers for a long time. They don’t get to touch each other anymore. She shouldn’t even want to. 

“Hi,” Tobin mumbles shyly. 

She scoffs. This? This is Tobin trying? Hi? Years apart and all she can manage is “hi”?

Tobin shuffles slightly, her eyes searching Christen’s face. Christen doesn’t say anything back, she just stays there, in Tobin’s gaze, as if she’s daring her to be better. To try harder. 

“Um—” Tobin pauses, rubbing her arm. 

This used to be so easy between them—starting a conversation. Even in the darkest part of their relationship it never felt awkward. Still, here they are, not talking, Christen feeling like she can’t say any of the things she’s thinking. It’s tenuous and awkward and it feels entirely wrong.

Tobin’s voice cuts through Christen’s racing thoughts. “How’s your, uh, date going?” She asks, gesturing with her thumb back toward the bar. Christen watches as Tobin’s cheeks start to burn. She feels, just for a moment, like she recognizes Tobin’s expressions, like she can read her again. Tobin looks like she did back in high school, back before they became them, back when Tobin would try to find anything to talk to Christen about.

Then the question settles in. “Date? Tobin, that’s my cousin. You’ve MET her. Christmas at my parents’ house freshman year?”

“I—um—oh.” Tobin’s eyes are wide as she fumbles over her words. “Oh, I mean there were a lot of people there and that was like ten years ago and I guess she just looks really different now.” It comes out as more of a question than a statement. 

It occurs to Christen that Tobin was jealous, that she could have lied, could have let Tobin continue to believe that she was happily on a date. She didn’t, though. She’s not sure she could have. She hasn’t really dated anyone since she came home to the damn note stuffed in her door, hasn’t really been able to think about anyone else that way, hard as she tries. “It’s not a date,” she replies, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice. She won’t elaborate. Tobin doesn’t deserve that. 

“Oh, but are you—” 

She watches the question die as it comes out of Tobin’s mouth. She knows that Tobin is curious. She can see the hope that formed on her face. She wants to know if she still has a chance. And, maybe she does, but Christen can’t give that to her yet. Not so soon. 

“I mean, oh, does she live in town or is she visiting you from somewhere?” Tobin scratches the back of her head, visibly uncomfortable now. 

“Is that really what you followed me out here to ask, Tobin? Is that what you want to talk to me about? My cousin?” She’s torn between angry and sad. She looks at Tobin and sees the life they could have had, the life she’d planned for them, but that’s not what happened, that’s not how life played out. Because she also sees the Tobin that came to her not twenty-four hours after a heated breakup having already slept with someone else. It had been weeks of having her heart shatter over and over upon waking up and remembering. And then it had faded to numbness. It had been years and therapy sessions to help her move past it. And now here she is standing in front of Tobin in the alley outside a bar and she thinks— 

She wants—

“What do you want, Tobin?”

"You," Tobin breathes out. "I want you. And I know it's stupid after all these years and maybe you're not available—and it’s not good timing, I know—but I’m in therapy and I’m doing the work and I want to be enough for you, Chris. I don’t think I’m there yet, but I want to be— I want you." 

Christen exhales slowly through her nose. She feels a slurry of emotions bubbling just beneath the surface and she’s not sure exactly which one will come out if she opens her mouth too quickly. Tobin’s words hit her like a punch to the gut, and she hadn’t expected it. She had thought that when it came to Tobin her walls were properly built up. She’d thought —

She can’t.

“It’s not that easy, Tobs.” The nickname feels like a betrayal to herself as it slips through her lips, and she watches as Tobin visibly reacts to it, her eyes growing wide with hope. “You can’t just march back into my life and leave a note in my door and expect everything to be fixed.” She takes a deep breath, tries to settle her thoughts, pinches the bridge of her nose and counts to ten. “Tobin, I’m so glad to hear that you’re in therapy. And you said you’re trying. And — God, there was a time in my life when I would have killed for you to be trying, but—I can’t take those words at face value, Tobin. I can’t...I can’t go through this again. I—”

“Chris, I’m not asking you to take me back right now. I’m not telling you I’m done or better or perfect—” 

“So then what are you asking? What are you saying?”

“I’m asking if you’ll let me try. I don’t expect you to just up and forgive me the first time I see you in… forever. I don’t expect us to pick up where we left off. I just, I wonder if you’ll let me try to show you that I can be better.”

It feels like something’s stuck in her chest, lodged uncomfortably. She swallows hard, as if she can clear it, but she knows she can’t. It’s not something physical. She takes a deep breath, and then a second. She shouldn’t open this door. Not again. She should slam it shut and walk away, back to her cousin, back to her life. 

(Her life that’s maybe felt a little incomplete since Tobin stopped being a part of it.) 

She opens her mouth to see if maybe magically the right words will come out. 

They don’t and she closes it again. 

She stares into Tobin’s pleading eyes, so full of emotion. She can see the hope fading from them the longer she stays silent. 

She takes another deep breath. “How about we try friends? We were friends once. We — I can maybe try friends, Tobs.”

She sees the renewed surge of hope, the vigorous nodding, the way her mouth can’t help but beam that broad smile that used to make her swoon (and maybe makes her feel a little unsteady on her feet in this moment). 

“Friends! Yes. I’ll take it. I— I can do friends, Chris. I...I’m trying.”


	14. hoax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobin and Lindsey gravitate to somewhere familiar while they ruminate on the many ways to love. Christen debates why the right next step is with Tobin. Emily tries to cope with the aftermath of Lindsey.

#### My only one  
My kingdom come undone  
My broken drum  
You have beaten my heart

* * *

When it explodes on her (and she knew it would, even if she didn’t know that she would light the match in the end), she needs to get away. She’s not that happy in her job anyway, so she puts in her notice, works for a few days, then takes the rest of the two weeks as vacation time, texts Emily a simple “sorry” (even though she deserves so much more—she deserves the world). She’s already packed up her stuff. She couldn’t stay. Not after she broke it off. Not after she put the ring on the nightstand. 

She’s been in a hotel for a week already, boxes half in a storage unit, half piled up around the small room with stale air. 

She’d taken one more night with Emily. One last one. She couldn’t stop herself, couldn’t stay away. 

But Emily deserves better. She can’t just be some rebound from a broken engagement. (She can’t just keep being a dirty little secret. That’s not what Lindsey wants. Not at all. Not one bit.) 

She takes the rest of the boxes to the storage unit after what she designates her last day of work and then she gets in the car and drives. 

There are two boxes left: one marked clothes, the other marked books. She’s not entirely sure what’s in either. The packing and the labelling had been haphazard, but it will have to do. 

It takes her three hours and two interstates before she realizes where she’s heading. 

There’s only one place that has really ever felt like home. (Only one place without Emily in it, anyway.) 

*

She’s wired on too many rest-area coffees by the time she drives into the quiet town. Wired and desperately needing to pee, except it’s four in the morning and the only gas station in town is not open this early. 

Her parents sold their summer house years ago, but that wasn’t really home either. 

She pulls up the long winding drive and realizes that she’s not even sure if the resident is still alive. Surely Tobin would have told her if she wasn’t. 

Except Tobin’s been living with her head in the sand a million miles away. 

It suddenly seems like the worst idea in the world. Even if she’s alive and there, Lindsey is still arriving at 4 a.m. uninvited. 

She has to pee too badly to make her second-guess herself for long, though, and that’s how she finds herself ringing the doorbell of Holiday House at 4:13 a.m. 

*

Aunt Taylor barely looks like she’s aged a day, although her steps are a little slower as she leads Lindsey into the house. 

“Go on. You can fill me in after coffee in the morning.” Aunt Taylor looks at her golden watch with a frown. “Later in the morning. At a reasonable hour.”

Lindsey thanks her profusely. “I’ll just crash on the couch as soon as I pee. And then after I fill you in I’ll be out of your hair, I just—”

“Crash on the couch? Don’t you want to talk to Tobin?”

Lindsey freezes despite her bladder’s protests. “Tobin?”

Aunt Taylor smiles that same knowing smile she always had. “She’s down at the beach. I thought you knew.” 

* * *

Tobin shuffles her feet through the sand, looking for rocks. Each time she finds one, she picks it up and tosses it toward the ocean. There’s something perfect in being out here—on the beach outside of Aunt Taylor’s house, enveloped in the sound of crashing waves. It overwhelms the senses in the quietest of ways. It has always made her feel at peace. 

She thinks about everything she learned earlier that day during “girl’s brunch” with Emily and Christen. She thinks about how fucked love really is. She wonders if she really will just be Christen’s friend forever. It’s lonely. She really has nobody left to talk to about all of this—save her therapist. But it still feels inadequate. 

She’s lost in thought when she thinks she hears her name. She looks back toward Holiday House and squints into the darkness, but she sees nothing. She picks up another rock and casts it into the ocean, hearing her name again as she releases it. She turns again and sees a tall figure backlit by the moonlight—it’s certainly not Aunt Taylor. She covers her brow with her hand, as if shielding it from sunlight, and squints again. _Is that—_

“Tobin!” Lindsey shouts. 

“Lindsey?” 

_It’s been too long_ , is her first thought. She should have been better about keeping in touch. (She should have been better about a lot of things.) 

Lindsey had been like a little sister to her for so long and then she’d gotten so wrapped up in her own head that she hadn’t even seen how much Lindsey was struggling. She’d let the contact between them become a rarity. She scrambles to her feet and spreads her arms wide in an offered hug that Lindsey hesitates before stepping into. Her body is tense, but as Tobin holds her close she collapses into it, as if she’s desperately needed someone to lean on. 

They stand there hugging for a long moment before Tobin realizes that Lindsey’s body is shaking. She’s crying, it clicks in Tobin’s head. Tobin pats her back. “It’s okay,” she soothes. 

“I fucked up so bad, Tobin,” Lindsey croaks, her voice muffled in Tobin’s shoulder. 

“Come on, let’s sit,” Tobin invites, gesturing to the sand. “Let’s talk.”

*

“How’d it start?”

Lindsey’s sobs have quieted to sniffles, the soothing sound of the surf breaking on the sand lulling them both into an easy calm. Lindsey takes a deep shuddery breath. “How’d it start? It started when I realized I still kinda liked guys too so convinced myself life would just be easier if I could just be straight.”

Tobin lets out a snort. “No, but with —”

“Emily. I know. It...Have you ever been scared of being in love?”

“Of course, but I think maybe in a different way than you. I think I’m scared I’ll never not be in love.”

“With Christen?”

“With Christen. Yeah. With Emily?”

“No. I used to be scared to be in love with her, but it didn’t matter. It happened anyway. Now I’m just scared I’ve fucked it up so much she’ll never love me back.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Tobin sighs, “I think I’m scared every day that’s exactly what I did with Chris. But, she’s like back in my life now. Not how I always imagined it, but having her as a friend is better than not having her in my life at all."

“I don’t deserve Emily in my life. She— Christen told you? About the affair, I mean.”

“Um…” Tobin hesitates. She knows the effect her words are apt to have, but she says them anyway. “Emily did, actually.”

“Oh.”

“But you’re wrong, you know. You do deserve her. You— Fuck, you deserve good things, you know, Linds. Like— Even though we’ve made mistakes, and God knows I’ve made more than my fair share, that doesn’t mean that we deserve to be miserable for the rest of our lives.”

Lindsey shoots her a sidelong look. “That your therapist talking?” 

Tobin lets out a laugh. “Maybe. Doesn’t mean she’s wrong.”

Lindsey nods. “But you have depression, Tobs. I have...like, a fucking lack of morals.”

“Then how come you feel so bad about it?”

Lindsey shrugs, but keeps her eyes trained out at the ocean. 

Tobin reaches around and finds another two rocks. She throws one and holds the other out to Lindsey. 

Lindsey glances at it, but leaves it. 

Tobin nudges her arm. “Come on. Throw it. It’ll make you feel better.” 

Lindsey sighs, but does as she’s told and after she releases it there’s a faint smile tugging on her lips. 

“See?” Tobin says. She hesitates again, but she needs to ask. “You told him. Right?”

Lindsey nods. “I couldn’t keep— I’m not in love with him and he deserves someone who is.”

“A lot of people wouldn’t have, you know.”

“Is this where you try to tell me I’m not a horrible person for sleeping with Emily for months while I was engaged to someone else?”

Tobin snorts and digs her toes into the sand. “Well, when you put it like that it sounds like a difficult task.”

“Exactly.”

“But I’m going to do it anyway. Because… Christen is the love of my life, you know.”

Lindsey frowns at the sudden change of conversation, but nods anyway. 

“Always has been and always will be, but that wasn’t enough to keep me from being depressed. That wasn’t enough to keep me from fucking it all up and making bad decisions.”

“Yeah, but —”

“And I blew it. I mean I really fucking blew it. You know. But… at the end of the day it had to come down to me. I had to start trying. I had to… Fuck I’m saying this all wrong, but my point is: there’s hope, Linds. After all the fuck ups and the misery and this feeling that everything sucks and you can’t ever make it good again: there’s hope. Okay? And I’ve— I’ve seen Emily recently, and I think…”

Lindsey looks at her expectantly, but Tobin holds her tongue. She’s not sure she should say more. She’s not sure what confidences it’s okay to betray in the name of healing. 

“I think you should take a little time. Figure out what you really want, who you really want to be, and then you try for it, Linds. Nothing happens if you don’t try. And Emily might be there waiting. I can’t promise you she will be. But I got to have brunch with Christen this morning and a few months ago I thought she might never talk to me again. You’re deserving, Lindsey, so have a little hope.”

* * *

Aunt Taylor doesn’t act like they’re an imposition. Not for a second. Not when Lindsey sheepishly asks to stay for a little while at their late breakfast the next day. Not when Tobin tracks sand in from the beach for the third time that day. Not when they keep her up far later than Tobin suspects she’s used to these days, encouraging her to regale them with more stories of Holiday House back when she’d first moved there. 

They never tired of the stories of lavish parties, the names dropped of famous invitees, the tales of mischief and decadence and attitude that Tobin’s not sure than anyone could quite pull off besides Aunt Taylor. 

And, though it takes her two nights to realize it, there seems to be a lesson woven through each story. It’s not heavy-handed like a teen show discussing the topic of the week. It’s subtle. 

Right up until she stops, looks them both dead in the eye and says, “You know, ladies, the world can’t handle strong women. Not one bit. So it’ll tell you over and over how you ‘should’ be, what a lady is ‘meant’ to behave like. But you know what? We have strength the world could only dream about. Quiet strength. Because the world spends so much time breaking us down, it doesn’t even realize it’s making us stronger. So you know what we do?”

Tobin catches Lindsey shaking her head, eyes wide, attention rapt, just as if they were still teenagers. She smiles. She’s heard this before. 

“We stand up,” she says softly. 

Aunt Taylor sits back in her chair and beams. “That’s right. That’s damn fucking right!” 

And Lindsey giggles and Tobin does too because there’s something so very amusing about this old woman cursing so emphatically. 

“We stand up and we keep going and we make them see. Because we are women, and we cannot be stopped.”

Tobin meets Lindsey’s eyes across the table. They’ve both been broken down, but not just by the world. They’ve both been their own worst enemies. But they’re not done. Neither of them is ready to lay down and give up. 

“We stand up,” Lindsey murmurs. 

Tobin smiles and nods. “And fight for what we want.”

“So what do you want?” Aunt Taylor asks with that twinkle in her eye that always gives Tobin the impression that she knows so much more than she’s saying. 

Tobin doesn’t hesitate. “Christen.”

Aunt Taylor’s attention shifts to Lindsey. 

“And you, young lady?” 

Tobin sees the blush crawl up Lindsey’s cheeks as she takes another sip of the cocktail sitting in front of her. “Emily,” she replies shyly, eyes on the table. 

“Well, then, that’s good. I want another sherry.”

* * *

“Sometimes it feels like life is just a big circle,” Tobin muses as she tosses a rock down into the quarry. “Since I was a kid I feel like I’ve always found myself on top of high cliffs thinking about life—” She pauses and breathes in. “Thinking about Christen.” She drops her head down as she continues, “But you know, this place here is kind of where it all started for me. Back in that summer when I first met you. When I was young and hopeful and you were the kind of friend I could always tell the truth to and we’d sit up here for hours thinking we were solving all of the world’s problems.” 

“Seriously. We used to spend so much time up here. It still feels like our little hideaway.” Lindsey pauses for a moment and sighs. “It’s weird to be back here as an adult, though. I’m basically the same height as I was back then but I remember this place being so much bigger than it is now.”

“Remember when you told me you were gay but not for me?” Tobin chuckles. “I remember thinking you were so brave for being so young and still admitting the thing I hadn’t yet.”

“What that I didn’t have a crush on you? No offense, Tobin but you’re basically my sister, it’s not hard not to want to bang you. Is it tough to admit you’re not gay for me?” 

Tobin punches Lindsey playfully in the arm, “You know what I mean, dude. That was like a moment that changed my life—admitting it. And, like, I have brave 14-year-old Lindsey to thank for that.” 

Lindsey rolls her eyes, “Yeah, so brave that I dated dudes forever and basically hid my attraction to girls.”

“Well, you’re not hiding it very well now,” Tobin teases with a wink.

“I really am not.” Lindsey inhales deeply, throwing her head back and looking up at the sky before groaning out, “God I’m so hopelessly in love with Em.” She freezes, her eyes wide, then she shakes her head and lets out a small laugh. “I’ve never admitted that out loud before.” 

Tobin pats her leg reassuringly. 

“ _Ugh_... it was just… so much easier to date guys. Like they are so simple. Like there aren’t complex things happening in their heads. Every guy I've dated, if they have beer and sex and either tools or football they’re pretty happy, you know? And girls...Emily is just, so...” She drifts off, but she doesn’t need to finish for Tobin to understand. 

Tobin nods and hums as she searches for the right words to say. “I know, but so many of the things that are worth anything in life are hard. Dude, therapy is so fucking hard. It’s so much easier just to persist living like I always have, but I can really feel myself growing—becoming a better me. It’s—so worth it.”

“Even if she never wants you again?”

Tobin shrugs. “It’s not really just for her. I think if she tells me she never wants me again, I’ll maybe need to add some emergency sessions. Or maybe a lot of them.” Tobin shakes her head and smiles. “But at the end of the day, it’s really for me.”

Lindsey looks at Tobin for a long moment. “Good for you, Tobin. I really am proud of you, you know.” 

“Thanks, Linds.” Tobin offers a small sideways smile. “I’m proud of you too, you know.”

“Pssh,” Lindsey breathes before incredulously declaring, “I don’t know what the hell for. For cheating on my fiancé and leaving him?”

“No, for admitting what you want and doing something hard.” 

Lindsey starts to protest, but Tobin’s phone dings, and her breath catches in her throat when she sees the name on her screen. She bites her lip as her eyes skim the words. 

“What did she say?” Lindsey asks when Tobin puts the phone down and looks back at her.

She tries to play innocent even as her heart races at what the message said. “Who?”

A skeptical look crosses Lindsey’s face. “Christen, Tobin. What did she say?”

Really she should have known better than to try to hide this from someone who’s known her for so long, still she asks, “How’d you know—”

“You had your Christen face on when you read it, Tobin. I’ve known that face for over ten years.”

Tobin looks down sheepishly as she relents, “She said she wants to talk.”

“What do you mean? Here, give me the phone.” Lindsey yanks Tobin’s phone out of her hand and reads aloud. “I want to talk. Could we do dinner tomorrow? Just us? Nothing fancy.”

“Oh my god, Tobin, is she asking you on a date?” 

“Linds, no. She’s made it very clear we are just friends.” She’s not going to get her hopes up. She’s learned better over the years and Christen—She’s set her boundaries. If Tobin ever wants to be truly happy with whatever part of Christen she’s willing to offer, then she can’t go looking for hidden meanings in every invitation. 

“Tobin!” Lindsey chastises, “‘Just Us’ does not sound like the friend zone to me.”

And that’s enough, that’s all it takes for her to disregard everything she’s just thought. Someone ELSE sees it. Someone ELSE thinks it. And she feels the hope creep in. “Do you really think?” 

“Maybe. I mean, I guess don’t get your hopes too high, but maybe?”

“Either way, hard but worth it?” Tobin asks. 

“Hard but worth it, T.” Lindsey nods. “Now, what are you doing standing here? Go home and see if you can get your girl.” 

“You going to come back and get yours, too?”

Lindsey shakes her head and casts her eyes down at the ground, “I don’t think so. I think I probably need a bit more salt air and a few more of Aunt Taylor’s cocktails before I’ll be ready to take that leap.”

Tobin wraps Lindsey in a hug. She gets it. She’s been there. And Lindsey is fresher into this journey than she is. “Hey, I know it’s hard—”

“Yeah?” Lindsey cuts in, “But it’s worth it?” she chuckles out, holding back tears.

“Yeah.”

* * *

Christen is nervous. She hasn’t felt these nerves in a long time, and this time they come with...history. 

She’s not sure, either. 

Not with all of the thinking she’s done. Not with her meditating or her late night conversations with her sisters or her journaling or the therapy sessions where she’s said the name “Tobin” more than she probably did for the last four years combined. Despite all of it, she just doesn’t know if she’s really ready, if this is really the right road forward. 

What was that saying? The definition of “insanity” is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result? 

Except—

Except they’re not the same. It isn’t the same. Tobin is— 

Tobin was always smart. She was always chill. But now there’s a thoughtfulness, and intention behind everything she does and says that wasn’t there before. 

Christen can see it. She’s watched Tobin pause mid sentence and think about her words and her reaction and adjust. She knows that’s the therapy at work. She even recognizes techniques that her own therapist has suggested. 

And that’s different. Tobin from college...Well, she wouldn’t be trying like this. 

And that’s the whole point. She _isn't_ Tobin from college. And Christen isn’t the same as she was then either. 

But this still...It feels like a lot. And normally she’d have Emily over to talk it over, to read the text over her shoulder before she sends it but, well, Emily’s dealing with her own stuff right now and Christen—

She doesn’t condone cheating. She loves Emily. She does, but she doesn’t know how to make her feel better about what she’s done. 

Life is messy. That’s what she’s learned and that’s the best advice she had to offer. Life is messy and love is chaos. And when Lindsey disappeared, Emily just about did too. 

So she’s sitting here, staring at her phone, finger hovering over the send button, reading the text for the tenth time. 

“Just us,” she reads the words under her breath. Is she ready? Can she really stand to be alone in a room with Tobin? Will Tobin expect too much?

(Will she be able to keep her own want in check?) 

“Fuck it,” she mutters, and she sends it. 

*

Tobin looks nervous. She’s worrying her bottom lip with her teeth and tugging at the hem of her shirt with one hand as she insistently turns the ring on the middle finger of her other hand. 

She looks nervous and she looks GOOD. She put effort into her outfit. Or, well, she’s Tobin, so maybe she didn’t, but she’s got a cute black vest on over a grey t-shirt and fitted black jeans and her hair is down and she’s got a touch of makeup on, just the hint of mascara and eyeshadow, but she looks so fucking hot. 

Not that Christen’s thinking about that. 

No.

Not at all. 

There are important things to talk about and she can’t let herself get distracted by—

_Damn her ass looks good in those jeans._

“So, uh…” Tobin interrupts Christen’s thoughts, looking into her eyes with a questioning expression.

“Sorry, come in. Come on in. I— You look— Hi.”

“Hi.” Tobin offers back with a slight smirk, tucking her hair behind her ear as she walks into Christen’s apartment.

There’s an awkwardness in the air between them as Christen leads her in and they settle in the living room, Tobin perched stiffly in the armchair while Christen pauses by the couch. “Can I get you something to drink? Um...I have beer, wine, san pellegrino...Water?” 

“Uh, yeah, just water is fine. No need for anything fancy, right?” Tobin chuckles, almost to herself.

“Right. Yeah, I just...Okay. Water. Be right back.”

When Christen returns, Tobin looks more relaxed. She's leaned back into the chair and has her right ankle propped up on her left knee, looking effortlessly comfortable in such an impossibly uncomfortable situation. Still, she's jittering her foot up and down and Christen can see it in the way her eyes scan the room: Tobin is nervous, too. Because even after all of this time—even after all of this change, Tobin still has her same tells. Christen doesn't know whether to consider that entirely endearing or to see it as a warning sign. She hands Tobin her water.

She’s not sure how to start. She’s not even entirely sure she SHOULD start, but here they are, and Tobin is looking at her with those big brown eyes, so expectant, so hopeful. 

“I’ve been thinking…” She fades out. She’s been thinking so many things. What should she disclose? What should she keep to herself. 

Tobin waits.

It would be so much easier if she cut in. If she said, “Me too.” If she said anything. But she doesn’t seem to these days. She’s better about waiting. She’s better about listening too, about hearing what Christen is really saying instead of reacting to what she THINKS Christen is saying. It’s one of the reasons that Christen sent that text in the end, one of the reasons that they’re here alone together right now. 

“It feels like we’ve...successfully managed to become friends.”

Tobin’s eyes drop ever so slightly. If Christen wasn’t watching her so acutely she might not even have noticed, but she is so she does. Tobin nods, though. “Yeah. I— I’m glad to hear you say that. I...It feels like we’ve been...good.”

Christen’s pretty sure that that’s not exactly what Tobin wanted to say, and for a split second she considers pressing her for whatever her original thought was, but then again she’s not sure she wants to know. Tobin has been so very good about respecting boundaries, and Christen is still wading through the murky waters of deciding if she wants to change them. 

“We’ve done a lot of being friends with...a buffer.”

Tobin nods again. “Emily.”

“Exactly. And she ha—”

“Her own shit to figure out,” Tobin supplies. “I saw Lindsey. I think…” She fades out and shrugs. 

This time Christen does latch on. It’s easier, in the moment, to focus on someone else, on problems that belong to other people. “You saw her? How is she?”

Tobin lets out a small laugh. “A mess, but...I think she’s starting to figure it out.”

“What?” Christen asks, even though she has a pretty good idea. 

Tobin hesitates, her eyes searching Christen’s for a moment. “That it’s worth it.”

Christen feels the mood in the room shift, everything feels heavier suddenly. She swallows hard. “What’s worth it?”

Tobin shrugs, her eyes darting away shyly. “The hard work. Being part of the right person’s life in whatever capacity they’ll have you. Doing things for yourself because you need to. All of it. It’s all worth it.” 

And Christen isn’t naive enough to not hear the message underneath the one that Tobin’s saying. She’s not naive enough to think that Tobin is still talking about Lindsey and Emily. 

She pauses, a question on the tip of her tongue. It’s one that Tobin’s basically just answered, and she really SHOULDN’T ask it, but it tumbles out anyway as she reaches out a hand and touches Tobin’s knee. “Even if we’re only ever friends?”

Tobin takes a deep breath, then meets her gaze, and Christen can feel it, the electricity that’s always been there, the spark between them that she’s pushed down for years now but that never really left. “Yes,” Tobin replies. 

And Christen kisses her. 

She shouldn’t. They’re not ready, and she hasn’t even properly sorted through her own feelings. This isn’t what she intended with this invitation.

Yet here she is, pressing her lips to Tobin’s. 

Tobin is the one to break it, to pull away, to clear her throat awkwardly. 

Christen pulls back too, feeling her cheeks flush, feeling her whole body heat up in embarrassment. “Sorry, I—”

“I can’t do this halfway. And I don’t think you meant to…” Tobin gestures between them. “I… Chris… You need to be sure. And I don’t think you are. I…” 

She watches Tobin swallow, traces the path of it down her throat. Her own heart is racing, pounding loudly in her ears. This feels almost like a rejection, and she really hadn’t planned on that. 

“God, I love you so much, but we… have too much to work through, still, before…” She puts her hand on her forehead and shakes her head. “Fuck, I’m fucking this all up. I can feel it. I just—”

Christen’s not sure she can properly breathe, but the words, “I love you” are echoing through her head, and she knows, knows she needed them, that she wants them. (She knows that she feels them.) 

But Tobin’s right, too. 

They’re not here. Not yet. 

“Maybe...maybe we should really start having those conversations. The hard ones. The ones we’ve been avoiding. Maybe…” She takes a deep breath, feels her hands shaking in her lap. “Maybe we can work towards, um…” She touches her lips. She can feel the phantom tingle of Tobin’s lips there, the ghost of the kiss lingering. “Towards healing,” she says. “Properly.”

Tobin smiles. It’s that beautiful smile. The free, beaming, incredible smile that Christen fell in love with all those years ago. “I’d like that.” 

Christen lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Then Tobin wrinkles her nose and squints at her. “Can we… Is couples therapy a thing for people who aren’t actually… couples? Could we…?”

“I’ll look into it,” Christen answers with a smile. 

* * *

#### Don't want no other shade of blue but you  
No other sadness in the world would do

* * *

It’s been a month. One entire month of radio silence. It’s been 27 days since she got the text from Lindsey’s fiancé that simply read, “FUCKING WHORE!” It’s been 27 days of writing texts she doesn’t send. 

_What the HELL? You HAD to drag me down TOO?_

Instantly deleted. Of course it would come out. If not now, later. At least she’d told him. That meant something. Didn’t it? Did it? 

_Why did you tell him?_

What good would knowing do? She’d made her choice. That was plain. She’d chosen neither of them in the end. If she had left him to be with Emily, then surely she would have texted, or called, or shown up. 

_Where have you gone?_

But it doesn’t matter. She shouldn’t wonder. She needs to finally fucking move on with her life. Christen has not so subtly hinted at much. She’d resisted the urge to point out how hypocritical the advice was as she was letting Tobin back into her life. 

_How could you just use me and leave me like that?_

But she knows how. She let her do it. She invited it by not turning away. She invited it by not telling her no. She invited it with every kiss, with every touch, with every night spent in each other’s embrace. 

She spends her days keeping as busy as possible and her nights trying not to think. She tries not to think Lindsey’s name at all and she fails miserably. In her lowest moments she types the same three words and deletes them over and over. 

_I miss you._

(And at her weakest she types three others and stares at them until the letters bleed together in her vision. But she never had any right to say that and she shouldn’t say it now.)

*

It’s late on a Tuesday and she’s worked late and her feet hurt and she’s exhausted, so she almost misses it when her phone rings. She’s pouring herself a LARGE glass of wine and her phone is sitting on the coffee table and it’s on vibrate and she’s not expecting a call anyway. 

She’s breathless when she grabs it, not bothering to look at the name on the screen first. 

“Hello?”

There’s a beat and Emily thinks maybe it’s a prank call or, worse, a robocall, but then she hears a sharp intake of breath, and, almost inaudible, “Emily?” 

She stops breathing. Her heart might actually stop beating too. She’s not prepared for the voice on the other end of the line. 

She doesn’t know what to say so she says nothing at all. 

“Are you there?”

Lindsey’s voice sounds raw, like maybe she’s been crying. Emily clears her throat and somehow forces out the word, “Yeah.” 

She waits. There’s another deep breath, and then Lindsey starts talking. 

“Hi. Look...I know you probably don’t want to hear from me, and maybe you’re about to hang up, but please, just…” 

Another pause. Another deep breath. 

“Em, I...I’m ready for the hard work. I’m...I don’t think there are enough ways for me to apologize to you. I’ve fucked up so badly when it comes to you, but...if you’ll let me, if there’s any chance in hell that you’re not just completely done with me, then...Well, I’d really like to try.”

Emily’s thoughts are reeling. She’s not sure she’s hearing Lindsey right. Maybe this is just an incredibly realistic dream and she’s actually passed out on the couch, too exhausted from her day of work. 

“Em?”

“I’m here,” she replies, her voice cracking. 

There’s a breath out on the other end of the line. And then, “Can I buy you dinner?”

  
  



	15. invisible string

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily and Lindsey finally get their shit together.

####  Time, mystical time  
Cutting me open, then healing me fine  
Were there clues I didn't see?

* * *

Everything starts out tentatively. 

Emily’s not sure how to trust, or just how stupid she is for still wanting to. 

And Lindsey—

Lindsey is full of shy smiles, questioning eyes, and apologies. 

Except the apologies aren’t just in-word. They’re written in the way that Lindsey will lace their hands together when they go out, the way she looks to Emily to see if she’s okay with it, but doesn’t check to see if anyone else is looking at them, if anyone else might see. They’re written in the way that Lindsey is careful to plan. The dates aren’t half-baked, dinner at whatever restaurant they happen to pass. They aren’t held in private, secluded locations. They’re definite dates with reservations at restaurants and Lindsey picking her up, holding out her chair for her, making up for her transgressions over and over in a million little ways. They’re written, too, in the way that Lindsey talks about the past. They don’t discuss the affair, but they do talk about college. A lot. More than Emily would have expected. 

Or, well, Lindsey talks about it and Emily listens. 

Emily finds herself listening a lot to everything that Lindsey says and everything she doesn’t. She listens to the explanations about Lindsey’s fears, the way she had told Tobin with such certainty that she liked girls and then when they’d left Rhode Island, when she’d left Tobin, when she’d returned to the “real” world, all of her confidence had faded. She listens to the ways it was easier for Lindsey to crush on guys, to date guys, to act like everyone else. She listens to Lindsey talk about their first kiss—

Emily’s breath catches in her chest and she bites her lip, remembering all too clearly the raw nerves, the way Lindsey’s lips had felt on hers, the glimmer of hope burning in her chest. 

“It’s always felt, with you, like there’s this...I don’t know. Like there’s an invisible string tying you to me. I don’t know. That sounds silly, but I just…”

“I get it,” Emily cuts her off. “I get it,” she repeats. “I mean you just happened to meet Tobin on that beach and I happened to transfer to the same high school as Chris and Tobs, and then we both happened to choose the same college as someone we knew and if we hadn’t…” Emily swallows hard and Lindsey looks away, and maybe she’s giving too much, letting on too much how she’s thought about this, how it’s consumed her mind, how she’s played over her life choices again and again wondering at how it all keeps leading her back to Lindsey if they’re not supposed to BE together. 

“If I hadn’t ended up in the same city as Chris after graduation. And you hadn’t moved here a year later,” Lindsey adds more quietly. 

They don’t mention what came next. There’s no need. 

“Do you remember that denim jacket you were wearing the first time I met you?” Emily asks, steering away to safer subjects. 

“Um, yes! That was my favorite jacket. It had all of these patches that I’d ironed on from different bands and teams. I wonder what happened to that.”

Emily feels a blush creeping up her cheeks. “I may have stolen it when I moved out because I just wanted something of yours,” she admits. 

Lindsey’s eyes go wide. “You what?”

“Sorry,” Emily mumbles, covering her face with her hands. 

Lindsey’s hand is warm as it wraps around Emily’s and tugs it down. “That’s kind of cute,” Lindsey says. She doesn’t let go as their hands settle on the table together and Emily notices, looks at it until Lindsey notices too. 

Emily half expects her to pull away, but she doesn’t. Instead Linsey asks, “Do you still have it?”

Emily nods. 

“After everything?” Lindsey’s voice is full of awe. 

Emily swallows hard and nods again and is rewarded by Lindsey’s smile. 

* * *

They don’t rush into anything physical. It’s a month’s worth of dates before they even kiss, and when Emily’s lips meet Lindsey’s this time it’s nothing like anything else they’ve ever shared. 

There’s always been a sense of urgency to their interactions in the past, but this kiss is long and slow. 

Lindsey’s lips are sweet and Emily can taste the hint of white wine on her tongue, and Lindsey’s hands are tender in their touch as she cups her face, slides fingers into her hair, presses a hand against her back, pulling her in. 

When they break apart, Lindsey looks shy, as if she hasn’t seen Emily naked before, as if she hasn’t had her mouth all over Emily’s body before. 

She looks shy and then her eyes come up to meet Emily’s and she says, “I really like doing that.” 

“Kissing me?” And Emily knows that the question is stupid as soon as it leaves her mouth, but somehow she can’t quite believe that Lindsey is there before her saying those words out loud. 

“Yeah,” Lindsey confirms, and then she leans in and does it again. 

She doesn’t rush, doesn’t push. She just kisses her over and over and over until Emily has lost track of time, lost track of space, lost track of anything that isn’t Lindsey’s tongue dancing with hers, the gentle caress of her lips, the way their bodies fit so perfectly together it’s as if they belong together. 

* * *

It’s three months in when Lindsey takes her dancing. They’ve done dinners and hikes and coffee and pick up games with friends, but they’ve never gone dancing. And Lindsey picks her up in a red dress with a plunging neckline that makes it impossible for Emily NOT to stare. Lindsey picks her up with a bouquet of flowers and her nerves showing in the way that she can’t stop biting her lip. 

Lindsey takes her salsa dancing and the music is fast and Lindsey’s hips—

Lindsey’s hips move like magic under Emily’s hands and Lindsey’s breasts are pressed right up against her threatening to spill out of her dress and Lindsey’s hands are so strong, her body so sure in each step, guiding her around the floor. 

“I didn’t know you could dance like this,” Emily gasps into her ear as they pause for a drink. 

Lindsey flashes her a smile. “I like to think that I can still surprise you after all these years.”

“Just wait until we’ve been married for twenty years,” Emily jokes, and then the words hit her squarely in the chest and she chokes on her drink, spluttering and coughing and wishing that she could put the words back in her mouth. She can’t, of course, and Lindsey stares at her with wide eyes and mouth agape and Emily’s brain simply CANNOT come up with anything to say to distract her because it’s far too busy panicking. 

“Married, huh?” Lindsey finally breaks the silence between them. 

“You know...hypothetically. Someday. People who are married...they eventually just...know each other. Probably. I don’t know. I’ve never been married. I don’t even know if I want to get married. I mean marriage is like such a patriarchal—”

Lindsey’s lips are sweet and taste vaguely of alcohol when she kisses her and Emily feels like she can breathe again now that word vomit is no longer pouring out of her mouth. 

When Lindsey pulls away, she’s smiling, and there’s a twinkle in her eyes that Emily can’t identify. 

“I think I’d like being married to you. Someday,” she replies, and then heads back out to the dance floor leaving Emily’s head reeling and her heart hammering and her eyes tracing the sway of Lindsey’s hips. 

* * *

When they end up back at Lindsey’s place, Emily probably shouldn’t be surprised, but she is. Tonight had been special. Lindsey had built it up as special, so of course tonight is the night that Lindsey is hoping—

But she doesn’t push it. She doesn’t even ask. Instead she offers Emily water and leans awkwardly against the fridge as Emily leans against the counter, sipping on the cold liquid. In fact, Emily is starting to wonder if Lindsey is just going to kiss her goodnight and send her on her way, but then Lindsey says, “God, I shouldn’t be this nervous! It’s not like we haven’t slept together before. I just… God, I’m tripping over my words just trying to ask you to stay the night, and—”

This time Emily cuts Lindsey off with a kiss, but this kiss doesn’t stop. Not in the kitchen. Not in the hallway as articles of clothing are frantically discarded. Not in the bedroom where Emily backs Lindsey up to her bed, and then Lindsey breaks them apart, looks into Emily’s eyes and says, “I love you, Em.”

They melt into the bed together, skin on skin, lips on lips, hands tracing paths they’d learned once but forced themselves to forget. 

And it’s nothing like it was. 

Where everything before had been frantic and hurried and hushed, the pressure of time looming in on them always, the knowledge that the stolen moments would end, now it is slow and steady. 

Lindsey works her up teasingly, lips on her mouth, her jaw, her throat. Fingers ghosting against hardened nipples, across taut abs. Nails grazing over ribs and shoulders and hips. Lindsey takes her time with every touch, every kiss, every lick. 

And Emily feels it. She feels the need and the want. She feels the way that Lindsey is telling her over and over not with word but with touch that she’s there, that she wants her, that this time it’s real.

Emily comes undone with the word love on her lips and her fingers digging into Lindsey’s powerful shoulders. 

And then she comes undone again with Lindsey’s mouth on her clit and her fingers curling inside her and the bedsheets tangled around her fists. 

Lindsey wants to go again, to start right in again, but Emily is too sensitive, she needs a pause, just a little. More than that, she needs to give, she needs to touch, she needs Lindsey to be sure that she is wanted back. This is a two way street in a way it never has been before and Emily will show her that with her fingers, with her mouth, maybe even with a toy later if she wants. 

Emily kisses her hard, tasting herself on Lindsey’s tongue, and Lindsey guides her head lower, guides her lips to her throat and whimpers, “Please, Em. Mark me. I want— Want the world to know. I’m yours. I’m yours.”

For a moment Emily can’t breathe, and then she does. She leaves a trail of red marks down Lindsey’s body, claiming her in a way she’s never been allowed to before. And when Emily finally touches Lindsey, when she feels between her legs, she is the wettest that she’s ever been. 

“Em!” Lindsey whines as Emily’s fingers tease at her entrance. “Please!” 

And Emily has never really been able to say no to Lindsey. For so long that was the problem. But now —

Now Lindsey comes undone with Emily’s fingers inside her and Emily’s eyes meeting her own and unspoken promises that this time they’re going to last. 

* * *

####  And isn't it just so pretty to think  
All along there was some  
Invisible string  
Tying you to me?

* * *

Lindsey lies awake in bed at night and looks at the shape of Emily beside her. She’s not sure how she ever thought that she could have carried on in her life without Emily properly in it, how she ever thought that just part of Emily would be enough. 

And Emily deserves so much more. She deserves the world. And Lindsey is determined to give it to her. This time she will. This time is different. This time there’s no guy she’s got her eye on, that she pretending could make her laugh half as much as Emily actually does. This time her biggest fear isn’t what others might think, but that she might fuck it up again, that after all of this she might still lose Emily. 

Except Emily is here, beside her, reaching out even in her sleep towards Lindsey, like even unconscious she’s still drawn towards her. And that’s what it feels like to Lindsey too. Emily feels like her true north that a compass will always lead her back to. She always has, it just took her too fucking long to figure that out. 

Lindsey traces the slope of Emily’s shoulder, the dip of her side, the curve of her hip, watches the sliver of moonlight slipping through the curtains dance over her skin.

Emily feels like home. 

She’d told her parents as soon as Emily agreed to the very first tentative proper date. 

She was so done with waiting, with letting nerves run her life, and so she’d Facetimed and blurted it out as soon as they’d answered. 

Her dad’s brows had furrowed and her mom’s eyes had gone wide and then Mike, her stupid fucking brother, said, “I always knew you were gay. About fucking time you admitted it.” And she’d never loved him more. 

Her parents had been okay with it at first and then, when they’d realized the truth in Lindsey’s words, when she’d let the word “love” slip the first time she brought Emily home as her girlfriend, well, they’d welcomed Emily with open arms. 

And Emily—

God, she’s so fucking special. How many people will give you another chance when you fuck up like Lindsey had? Yet Emily had. She had and she believed and she hoped through all of it, and Lindsey—

Lindsey doesn’t deserve her, she knows it, but goddammit she’s going to try. Every day she’s going to try because Emily—

She loves Emily like she’s never loved anyone ever. She loves Emily like a burning fire and smoldering embers all at once. She loves Emily now and she loved her then, even when she couldn’t even bear to think the words, and she knows, somewhere in her chest, where her heart beats a little bit faster, that she’s going to love her forever. 

“You’re thinking too loud,” Emily mumbles, her voice husky and Lindsey can’t stop the shiver that runs through her. Emily scoots closer, wraps an arm around her waist, tucks her head against Lindsey’s chest. “Go back to sleep.” 

Lindsey kisses her head tenderly. “Sorry. I’ll go back to sleep soon.” 

“And stop apologizing,” Emily adds through a yawn. “Enough sorrys. Just futures now. K?” 

Lindsey lets out a small chuckle, stifling it quickly so as to not shake Emily further awake. Emily’s not really making sense, but Lindsey thinks she knows what she means anyway. “Okay,” she murmurs against Emily’s scalp. “Just futures.”

* * *

She’s been trying to take it slow. Every single step she’s told herself not to rush. Emily deserves for this to be done right, to be treasured in every moment. 

She didn’t rush to the first kiss. She didn’t rush to bed with her. She took her time and savored each second, each step. 

But now—

Maybe it’s too soon still. She’s sure some people would say it was, but they don’t know them. Not properly. They don’t know that Emily has been it for her since freshman year of college, even if she couldn’t say it then. 

It’s been eight months, and she had wanted to wait until a year. She SHOULD probably wait until a year. But she feels like if she waits another four months she’s going to explode. The question is on the tip of her tongue every day, in every interaction. She almost let it slip when Emily had toothpaste on her chin the other night, just because it was so very her and she loves Emily so very much. 

But she didn’t, and she doesn’t have the ring yet. 

That’s why she’s here. 

She measured last night, while Emily was sleeping, and now she’s here, in the store, trying not to look like a deer in headlights at the sheer amount of options she has before her. So many are too gaudy, or too flashy, and as much as she’d like to spoil Emily with the biggest rock ever, that’s not her style. 

She shakes her head at the offered help from an overly confident salesman and browses along the edges. 

And then she sees it, and she knows it’s the right one. 

“Oh, that one has a flaw. You don’t really want that, do you?” the salesman asks when she asks to see it out of the case. 

But it’s the flaw that’s drawn her attention, and the girl with the slighter build whose nametag reads Mal seems to understand that because she steps forward and says, “I’ve got it, Dave.” 

When Dave has wandered away, she takes the ring out for Lindsey to look at and says, “Did you catch the fireworks in it, then?”

Lindsey nods. 

“That’s the flaw he talked about, but my uncle cut it like that on purpose. Sometimes flaws bring out the beauty, don’t you think?”

Lindsey smiles, and breathes out, “Yeah.”

And she knows that’s what Emily thinks or why would she be with Lindsey. 

“Yeah, I think she’ll love it.” 

Mal just smiles back as she begins to package the ring up for her. “I’m sure she will. Congratulations.”


	16. peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christen and Tobin find their way together.

#### The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me.

* * *

There’s something about the way Christen sometimes calls her, “babe,” so casually, like she never stopped; how her eyes crinkle just a little more when she laughs at Tobin; how all of the hard work feels just a little more tolerable when she’s doing it with Christen—It’s all of the little things that make her feel like she can breathe again for the first time in years.

It’s not easy or quick, and most days don’t feel better than the last, but when she looks back over weeks—over the last four months—she can see how they’ve grown. 

_Together_.

And the big things have come—they’re officially dating again, talking about their plans for the future and including one another in those plans, discussions of possibly maybe moving in together when Tobin’s lease expires in six months—but it’s not those big things that make things feel right. No, it’s how Christen reaches for her pinky when they’re walking in the grocery store. It’s the fact that Christen tells her family Tobin says hello when she calls them. It’s the way that Christen isn’t embarrassed to have drooled on her when she falls asleep in Tobin’s arms. 

But perhaps most of all, it’s the looks. Their stolen glances. The moments Tobin catches Christen’s eye across a party. She can feel _them_ in those moments. The bond they share. The understanding. It feels like everything. 

* * *

“I love being us,” Tobin impulsively blurts one Sunday morning. They’re sitting in bed, drinking coffee and reading the news. 

Tobin has been trying to let Christen determine the pace—set the tone. She knows she can’t force anything between them; as badly as she just wants to move in and get married and have kids right away, she knows Christen has to learn to heal, to trust her. She holds her tongue a lot—tries not to say too much too soon. But sometimes, it just slips. 

“We do have a pretty great thing going here,” Christen responds with a raised eyebrow. 

“I mean—” Tobin corrects, “I love being an _‘us.’_ I love that I get to tell people _we_ are going to do something. That _we_ thought the movie was adorable, and that _we_ don’t think the cottagecore aesthetic can be overdone. You know?”

Christen smiles at Tobin knowingly and plants a kiss on her cheek with a murmured, “Yeah, I get it,” before moving back to her side of the bed. 

_They have sides of the bed._

* * *

Living together is...not like Tobin expects. Or, well, it’s not as easy as Tobin expects. 

Tobin has been living alone for so long now, and even though they’d been spending almost every night together, it’s different to have someone else always in her space. Not bad, necessarily, just different. 

Christen’s toothbrush and preferred brand of toothpaste and her face wash and her face cream crowd the sink so much that Tobin is sure they’re going to have to buy a bigger vanity. Christen’s clothes take up 90% of their shared closet space. It’s not really a problem. Tobin still much prefers to live in a simple wardrobe of sweats or shorts and a T-shirt, it’s just weird to open the closet and have it full of clothes that aren’t hers. 

There’s the way they have to figure out who does what chores and when. Should Tobin have to clean up if she cooked? Should Christen? Do they do both together? Is that even feasible every night? 

And there’s the combining of finances. Not that they’re rushing into getting a joint checking account or anything. It’s just now their money has to feed two people always, and the things they need for the apartment (or more often the things they WANT for the apartment) are added expenses too. If Tobin hadn’t been working so hard on communication lately there would be a lot more fights, of that she’s sure. 

But they don’t fight. Not really. Not a lot. 

Christen leaves her notes when she’s really frustrated. She always ends them with a heart at the bottom, but Tobin knows that it’s how she sorts out her thoughts best: on paper. 

And Tobin goes for a jog when she really needs to step back and cool off. The steady pounding of her feet on the ground helps her think. 

At the end, though, before bed, they always come back together and talk, and work it out, and compromise, and that —

That might be the best part of living together. 

(Well, the makeup sex isn’t bad either.)

* * *

#### Give you the silence that only comes when two people understand each other.  
Family that I chose now that I see your brother as my brother.

* * *

It’s easy to learn to be with Tobin again. They just fit together so perfectly. Even after all of the years of want and grief, after slowly undoing one another from afar, it’s easy to trust her. 

Maybe it wasn’t totally easy at first, but Tobin’s worked to earn it back. She’s not cured, but she is much more self-aware. She tells Christen what she’s thinking, what she’s feeling. She listens and waits. She lets conversations take their course and she’s willing to talk about the tough stuff, the bad stuff—the past. She’s all of the things Christen wanted her to be, and sometimes it hurts Christen to realize that she didn’t get to be there for Tobin—that she didn’t get to help her make it happen.

And, it turns out that falling in love with Tobin for the second time is even easier than it was the first time.

* * *

The evening is a little bit chilly, but in the kind of way Christen would describe as lovely. The air is just cold enough to taste and smell, but not so cold that she needs gloves; hands in pockets will do. It’s the kind of weather that provides a perfect excuse to snuggle close to someone as you walk. 

A few weeks from now, there’ll be snow on the ground and Christmas lights everywhere on this block. Christen will be bundled up tightly and complaining about still living in a place where it snows each time they leave their apartment. But for now, it’s just Tobin and Christen, walking arm in arm down the sidewalk. A perfectly chilly night. 

They’d gone out to dinner at their favorite restaurant: an unassuming Thai place on the corner of their block. And even though they ordered the same thing they always do, tonight felt different; special. There’s a weight to the air around them, and it’s almost like Christen can feel it in her chest. She clings to Tobin as they walk, feeling like they are in a little bubble of love and laughter. It feels almost fragile—the thing they have right now—the impossible ache in her chest, drawing her closer to Tobin. 

Tonight feels perfect in every way, like a culmination of the ways they’ve been growing together. A cozy night that seems made for just them. It’s nothing fancy or noticeably special; just the two of them walking around their neighborhood together enjoying one another’s company. And Christen doesn’t want it to end. As they get nearer to their place she thinks about all the little chores they need to do inside—the dishwasher that needs unloading and laundry that needs folding. 

_Tonight feels too perfect to waste on chores._

“Tobes, do you want to go get some hot chocolate and keep walking around for a bit?” she asks before closing her eyes and inhaling deeply through her nose, a smile on her face. “Tonight just feels so lovely and I don’t want it to end.”

Tobin looks at Christen for a minute, seeming to study Christen’s eyes the way she sometimes does. She smiles that infectious grin of hers and says, “I’ll go anywhere with you,” with a wink.

“Okay, but let me run up and get my gloves first!” Christen says, leaving Tobin on the sidewalk outside their house. 

* * *

They walk around the park as they sip their hot chocolate, their earlier conversation traded for comfortable silence. It’s as if they are living totally and completely in that moment.

Christen feels a bit like time has slowed down. She wonders if this is the exact sentiment all of those poets, and authors, and Hallmark-Christmas-movie screenwriters are trying to capture: this perfect, blissful moment when everything in the world fades to black except you and the person you love and the beautiful thing that hangs between you and ties you inextricably. It’s almost meditative how the feeling envelopes her. 

She sits down on a park bench and Tobin follows suit. They stay quiet both taking in the night around them. Christen lets her eyes wander to Tobin. 

Tobin has her eyes closed and she is breathing in the scent of her own hot chocolate before she takes a big sip. Christen stares, breathlessly, feeling a new and perhaps more-fragile moment forming. She’s forgotten about the bench and the cold and she finds herself completely entranced by Tobin. Her jaw, her lips, the way her eyes seem to be smiling right now.

Tobin catches her gaze and gives her a sideways glance. “What, do I have hot chocolate on my face or something?” She wipes around her lips with her hand and checks it for any remnants. 

Christen smiles shyly, feeling a bit caught. “No, sorry, you’re — you’re just so beautiful, babe.”

Half of Tobin’s mouth curls into a smile, her face shifting to a look of confused curiosity, “Oh yeah? And what makes you think that right now?”

Christen shrugs and smiles as she changes the subject. “Babe, do you remember our first kiss?”

“You mean that time when you were tipsy and you dragged me to dance in the middle of the street? When you knocked me to the ground and then proceeded to kiss my bloody hip and drive me absolutely crazy before you actually kissed me?”

As Tobin recalls the details, Christen feels almost transported back to that moment on that cobblestone street. To how much she wanted Tobin, how afraid she was that Tobin wouldn’t want her. How she pretended to be drunker than she was, just in case she needed a scapegoat for her behavior later. She swears her heart starts beating loud enough for Tobin to hear.

_Thump. Thump._

“Yeah,” Christen says with a chuckle, “that one.”

“Nope, I’ve forgotten it completely. No memory whatsoever of the details.”

_Thump. Thump._

“Tobes!” Christen whines, her breath dying early on Tobin’s name as it crosses her drying mouth. 

“Yes, baby, I remember that night and that kiss. I honestly don’t think it’s the kind of thing I could ever forget. Not now, not in a hundred years.”

_Thump. Thump._

“Me neither. Tonight feels kind of like that, doesn't it? I mean without all of the pining and hormones and alcohol.”

_Thump. Thump._

“Huh, I guess so,” Tobin answers with a nod. “Tonight has been kind of magical, in the most ordinary way, hasn’t it?”

“Dance with me?” Christen says setting down her cup and standing. Tobin follows suit, reaching out for Christen once her cup is resting safely on the ground by the bench. 

Christen takes Tobin’s hand and pulls her to her feet. 

_Thump. Thump._

Tobin stands up and spins Christen gently before taking her waist and pulling her close, interlocking their fingers, “Babe, you know I love dancing with you, but there’s really not any music.”

“Of course there is,” Christen corrects, “it’s here.” She drops her hand from Tobin’s shoulder to place it over her heart as she starts to hum a slow version of the song that was playing in the distance that first night they kissed. She taps a rhythm on Tobin’s chest that matches her own heartbeat. She swallows hard and leans in close, resting her forehead on Tobin’s. She looks up to see Tobin’s eyes closed as they sway. 

_Thump. Thump._

Christen feels everything in that moment. Their whole history. The long and winding path that brought them here. She feels the good and the bad, every little step they’ve taken together. She considers how different they are now, what a long journey it’s been to here. 

“Tobin?” she asks, stepping back, taking Tobin’s left hand from her waist. 

“Chris?” Tobin answers back with a raised eyebrow.

_Thump. Thump._

Christen drops her free hand into her pocket and takes a step back, still holding on to Tobin’s hand. She can still hear her heartbeat in her ears, but looking at Tobin’s face, she knows everything is going to be— 

Tobin makes her feel— 

Like everything is always alright in the long run. Because she came back. She realized her mistakes and she worked on herself and she came back to Christen.

“Tobin Powell Heath,” she starts.

“Chris, what are you—”

_Thump. Thump._

“Shh, just let me talk for a sec.” 

Tobin opens her mouth as if to to protest but then closes it and nods. 

“Tobin Powell Heath, you were right when you said today has been magical in an ordinary way. But, honestly, everything about the last year or so has been magical like that. From the stupid fights to the morning coffee and everything we’ve done inbetween, you’ve just been—everything to me. Even in our worst moments, I’ve never wanted anything other than you— than us. You’ve made my everyday magical. And, I don’t think I ever want to live without that magic. I don’t ever want to think about not waking up next to you, or not laughing at your dumb jokes, or not ordering two different dishes so we can try them both. And more than all that you make me a better me. You make me try new things and branch out and play midfield.” Christen chuckles, wiping forming tears from her eyes, and Tobin snorts as she bites back emotion, a smile on her face. “And I’ve had this for a while, thinking about when the right time might be, how to make the day special, how to make sure it had this magic, but the thing is — You’re just so special to me Tobin, and you always have been. Every time is the right time. Now, is the right time. To me, it feels like we’re meant to be—like any path I take in life, I’ll always be fine, as long as it’s with you. So, Tobin, will you take life’s paths with me? Will you marry me?”

Christen pulls them together by their enjoined hands while she slips the ring out of her pocket. She hovers it over Tobin’s ring finger, which is still plastered against her own hand. She worries, for a fleeting second, that Tobin isn’t going to let her put the ring on her hand as what looks like worry or grief flashes across Tobin’s face. But Tobin just squeezes her hand tightly, lets go, and lets Christen slide the ring on her hand before taking Christen’s face in both of her hands and kissing Christen deeply. 

“Is that a yes?” Christen asks, as she pulls back desperate for air. 

“Yes, babe, I can’t imagine anything better than marrying you.” Tobin says, pressing their lips together again.

And Christen knows it’s all real, but she can’t help but feel, just for a moment, like maybe it’s all a dream. 

* * *

#### Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

* * *

They’re engaged. Get-your-families-and-friends-together, throw-a-big-party, admit-your-love-in front-of-people, commit-to-spending-together-forever engaged. And Tobin is SO happy. She genuinely wasn’t expecting Christen to propose, but when she did, it felt like a confirmation of everything they’d been working toward. 

Christen trusted her again. Christen loved her again. Christen wanted her forever again. 

And everything had been going perfectly with planning: they agreed on the size of the wedding, the venue they wanted, the colors, what they’d wear, that they didn’t want bridal parties, that they’d ask Aunt Taylor to perform the ceremony. Planning a wedding was so much easier than anyone made it seem like it would be (probably because she was doing it with Christen, her partner, the one person that she WANTED to go through life with).

Still, Tobin can’t help the subtle feeling in the pit of her stomach, the lump she occasionally feels in her throat, the way she startles awake sometimes. It feels a little bit like backsliding, even as she was moving forward with Christen. 

The whole thing started the moment she saw the ring. They were having a perfect night, dancing alone in the middle of a park, and then, suddenly, there was a ring hovering above her left ring finger. And, as if by magic, the most perfect girl she’d ever known was saying she wanted to spend forever with Tobin. 

But just for a split second, for a fraction of a thought, she wondered whether she needed to give an answer. Whether, if she never let go of Christen’s hand and the ring never made it on her finger, they could just go on living in that moment forever. They would never need to be anything more to each other than two people in love dancing in the dark. 

She chalked it up to a flash of insecurity, to some latent societal expectations for who the person she married should (or shouldn’t) be—but it’s been slowly growing in her mind since. It’s what puts tears in her eyes as Christen makes her coffee in the mornings. It’s what makes it difficult to swallow, just for a moment, when Christen kisses her and pushes her back onto the bed. It’s the small pang of guilt she feels when Christen texts her, “I am so excited to marry you!” 

It’s a hint of doubt.

It’s not doubt about how much she loves Christen, whether Christen is good for her, or whether they should be together. No, it’s about _her_. It’s about the clouds she still feels rolling in sometimes. She’s better about recognizing them; fighting them. Still, she remembers standing on the railing at the overlook and honestly considering whether she should stay. And it’s thoughts like that that make her wonder if she can promise she won’t slip away again. 

But you’re not supposed to do that to your wife. You’re not allowed to let go. You’re supposed to promise you won’t slip away. You’re supposed to commit to being there for her in every circumstance then actually do it. But what if she can’t make that promise? What if things get bad again? 

The real question that’s plaguing her—the one that is spinning in her mind when things go a little quiet—is whether she can actually be enough for Christen, for their future family. Is her trying her hardest enough, when she knows trying might not be enough? 

These thoughts are swirling as she talks Aunt Taylor through what they want from the ceremony. Nothing too elaborate, just something simple and them. And Aunt Taylor, always so much more perceptive than people tend to give her credit for, must pick up on it, because she says, “What’s buzzing around that busy head of yours, Tobin?” 

“Nothing.” Tobin starts before correcting herself. “Well, I guess there’re just a lot of things to plan, you know? Food to taste, linens to select—how are there so many variations of white?—vows to write.” She knows it’s a half truth, but she hopes Aunt Taylor will accept it. 

“Mmmm...I don’t think that’s it, honey. Try again.”

“It is. I swear. I mean, that’s a big part of it, at least. Just a lot to do on top of normal responsibilities. It’s a little stressful.”

“Tobin, you have always been special to me. Always. And I know you’ve had your struggles. But don’t bullshit me.”

Tobin chuckles. She’s not quite sure how she’s always been so transparent to Aunt Taylor. “Yeah, I guess the wedding just makes me kind of stressed about the future too.”

“In what way? Because, darling, I have seen you with Christen. I have never seen two women more intertwined in their lives. I have seen a lot of couples in my time, you know. A LOT of couples. Dated a bit myself, too.” Tobin can practically hear the wink in her voice. “And let me tell you, there are couples who haven’t worked half as hard as you two have to be together, who walk away the second anything starts to get tough. What you two have...that’s true love, Tobin. And you know I am NOT prone to pulling out sappy terms like that!”

Tobin smirks. She knows Aunt Taylor is right. She knows they’re perfect for each other. Or, at least, that Christen is perfect for her. But she still can’t help but wonder whether she can promise what she’s supposed to. “Yeah, it’s not just that. I guess— Well, you’ve known me almost my whole life. I’ve been… unpredictable at times. And, I guess I just worry that maybe I’ll let my guard down one day and things will go wrong and I’ll end up hurting Christen more than I did before. It just feels like this is a really big step and I wonder if I can really commit to being a good partner— a good wife— when I know things could change, that I could slide back to some of those dark places I’ve found myself in.”

“I see. Tell me something, dear. Has she expressed any concern about this?”

“No, but she wouldn’t.” Tobin takes a deep breath, collecting her thoughts, “Sometimes I guess I worry maybe she just doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into.”

“Honey, she’s been there before. She’s known you just about as long as I have. She doesn’t expect you to be perfect. She expects you to be you. To keep trying.”

“I guess.” Tobin admits. She knows her fears are a little unfounded, and that Aunt Taylor is, as always, exactly right, but she can’t help the quiet little voice in the back of her mind that asks her whether she’s capable of doing this.

“Do you want to give up before you’ve tried?”

“No. I want to spend the rest of my life with her. I just also don’t want to hurt her.”

“Sweetheart, the world is full of unknowns. And people hurt others in little unexpected ways all the time. But Christen asked you to marry her for a reason. You just have to tell yourself that you trust her reasons. She’s decided that you’re enough for her. You’re GOOD for her. You gonna tell her she’s wrong? Or you gonna tell _you_ , you might be wrong?”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

“There is no other way to put it, dear. Girl knows her own mind. Gotta trust that.”

“Yeah. And I do trust her. I think it’s more about learning to trust myself for her. I just love her so much and I never want to hurt her, but I know myself and I know my past propensities. That’s all.” They sit in silence for a moment as Tobin studies the floor in front of her. “But, you’re right. I do trust her. I trust her judgment. And maybe I really need to think about it that way—that I need to trust her trusting me.” 

“I’d say you do. So I’ll be seeing you in a month for a wedding?”

“I can’t wait.”

* * *

Tobin does her best, over the next few weeks to try to learn to trust Christen’s trust. And it works, mostly. Still, as she sits down to work on her vows one evening she hears that quiet voice of doubt. 

Christen’s in the living room and Tobin decides maybe the best solution to all of this would be to just ask Christen. Just check in and make sure she’s fully considered all of this. All of what being married to Tobin could mean. 

“Hey, Chris?” she asks, sitting down on the couch across from Christen. “Do you have a sec?”

“Hey, babe!” Christen’s whole face lights up when she looks up at her. And maybe that should be her hint. Maybe that should be enough. But she feels like she needs to hear her confirmation, like she needs to be sure. “I always have time for you. What’s up?”

“I was just… um… writing my vows and I was wondering if I could ask you something?”

“Yeah, of course!” There’s a flash of concern on her face, and Tobin wonders if maybe she’s coming at this wrong. “What’s going on, Tobs?”

“I just—” She searches for the words, feeling a bit unsure about whether she should have even started this conversation in the first place. “I have been thinking a lot—since you asked me to marry you…” 

Christen’s brows furrow and Tobin feels like she can physically see her pulling away. “Yeah? Please don’t tell me you want to cancel the wedding…”

“No! Nothing like that—” 

Christen laughs in relief, but Tobin doesn’t feel relieved, she feels her anxiety writhing up inside her. 

She chews at her bottom lip before continuing, “I guess I am just wondering… like when you think about us in the future, what do you see? I mean I know it’s kids and soccer practices and dates in the park. I guess I’m just wondering… are you sure? Are you sure it's me? That you know what you're getting into here? Because… I might get depressed again. And I want to fight every time, but there's no assurance I won't get lost along the way.”

Christen leans forward, takes her hand, gives it a squeeze, and Tobin feels a hint of relief flood through her. “I’m sure, Tobin. If you get lost, then I want to be there to help you find the way. You’re it for me. You always have been, even when we both lost our way before. We’re stronger together.”

“Yeah? I just— I guess I worry that we’re so happy right now we might have forgotten how bad I can be. How bad things got between us. Aunt Taylor told me to trust you, that you know what you’re doing. And I’m trying, I guess I just really needed to hear it from you.”

Christen leans in and kisses her, and there is no hesitation in the kiss, no uncertainty. “I’m sure, babe. I’m so sure. We can get through anything if we do it together.”

* * *

#### All these people think love's for show  
But I would die for you in secret

* * *

Everything has been building to this moment. Not just today, but her whole life, it feels like. This is it: today is the day that she is going to marry her best friend, her partner, her companion through life. 

She hears the music change to the song she picked out to walk down the aisle to and takes a deep breath. Tobin’s already out there, already waiting, already ready for her. 

“Ready, Mo?”

Christen feels a buzz of energy, like a low hum, thrumming from the guests that she knows wait just through the doors, from the excitement that has been building inside of her all day. “Never been more ready for anything in my whole life.” 

She links her arm through the one her dad offers and together they open the door and walk in. 

She can’t wipe the smile off her face. She couldn't if she tried. And there’s Tobin, standing at the altar, eyes only on her. 

They lock eyes and Christen’s smile grows impossibly wider because this is it. This is the moment. She gets to marry the love of her life. 

And Tobin looks absolutely gorgeous, standing there in her tailored three-piece dark blue suit, hair down in loose waves, just the barest hint of makeup. 

Christen watches her eyes sweep down over her dress, trailing down the white lace of the top to the pale green of the skirt, then tracing back up over her hair, tied up with delicate white flower clips creating almost a tiara effect. Tobin’s eyes meet hers again, and there are already tears brimming in them. 

She feels tears well up in her own eyes as they begin to slide down Tobin’s cheeks, her grip on her father’s arm tightening just a little as the emotion of the moment sweeps over her. 

“You picked a good one, sweetheart,” her dad whispers in her ear, and then she’s there, standing right in front of Tobin, Perry sneaking a tissue into Tobin’s hand enough to make both of them let out a snort of laughter through the threatening tears. 

Her dad kisses her on the cheek then moves to his seat. 

“Hi,” Christen mouths as Tobin reaches out and clasps her hands. She can feel the warmth emanating from her and it’s not just in her touch but in her whole being. 

“You’re so damn beautiful,” Tobin murmurs, half sob, half laugh. “You sure you want to marry me?” 

There’s tittering of laughter from their guests, but Christen doesn’t look at them. She looks at kind brown eyes that she’s known her whole life, that remind her of times good and bad, that feel like home. “So sure.” 

The ceremony itself passes in a blur. Time seems to slow down and go too fast all at once, like it’s stopped obeying the laws it usually does. 

Christen says the words she’d so carefully written down. The ones about working through tough times, about sticking together, about listening and learning and growing. She puts her heart into them, eyes locked on Tobin’s, knowing she can feel the truth and the hope that she’s instilled in them. 

“Life is one crazy rollercoaster, and I never really know exactly what’s around the next corner or over the next drop, but I DO know I want to find out with you. I’ve never had someone push me the way that you do, test me the way that you do, find the right buttons to push the way that you do…” 

Tobin snorts and some of their guests giggle, but Christen just smiles at Tobin through it. She just can’t stop smiling. Doesn’t want to. 

“And I know that everything we’ve been through, every up and down in the rollercoaster, has only been leading us here. I can’t wait to see what the future holds for us. I can’t wait to share the rest of my life with you, Tobin Heath.”

She listens to Tobin’s, said through tears but still with that element of humor that is just so purely her. She accepts the promises of trying to find her way through dark times guided by Christen’s light with a little squeeze of Tobin’s hand in hers. She laughs along with everyone else when Tobin says she knew she wanted to spend her life with her the first day she saw her on the playground. 

“You’re it for me, Chris. I’ve learned in time to trust in you and you in turn help me trust in me. I’ve grown up with you, screwed up with you, left you, and found my way back to you. All the roads I’ve diverged on in my life, they’ve always led me back to you, Chris.” 

Christen swallows down the lump in her throat. She knows they’ve been through hell and back, in her darkest moments she can feel that still, but right here, right now, with Tobin. This is right. This is meant to be. 

Before she knows it, she’s repeating after Aunt Taylor. The words, “I do,” falling from her lips feeling like a promise and a song all in one as she slides a ring over Tobin’s finger. Her heart soars with joy as Tobin echoes Aunt Taylor, too. Her “I do” is said with eyes twinkling with emotion and a smile so wide that Christen is sure Tobin’s cheeks will ache later. Nothing has ever felt more right than the solid weight of the band placed on her own finger. 

And then, far too soon, Aunt Taylor is saying, “Well, go on, kiss her sweetheart,” to Tobin. “What are you waiting for?” 

To the guests at large she says, “With all the power vested in me by the lovely people online, I now declare these two kids hopelessly in love with each other.”

Turning her attention back to Christen and Tobin she says, “You are now wife, and wife. Don’t screw it up.” 

Christen laughs and kisses Tobin again through her smile. 

“Now what we’ve all been waiting for: party time!” Aunt Taylor shouts behind them as they head down the aisle hand in hand. 

There are pictures and toasts and first dances, but more than any of that, more than any specific moment, when Christen looks back in years to come, what really stands out to her is the love. 

It’s her and Tobin, surrounded by family and friends, all there for them, all supporting them, all loving them, all cheering for them. 

She holds Tobin close on the slow songs and spins and jumps with her on the fast ones. 

They conga around the entire room, and then they’re all in a circle, holding hands, singing along to the Beach Boys “Good Vibrations”. (And maybe she chokes a little when Aunt Taylor, a few gin and tonics in, leans over and says, “I bet there are some good vibrations. Right, ladies?”)

Christen gives so many hugs, smiles for so many pictures, and dances until her feet ache, but she has never been happier in her life. 

Eventually the dancing winds down and they’re sent on their way. Aunt Taylor has brought her sea green, 1950s chevy convertible all the way there, decorated it with streamers and cans off the back, and she hands them the keys and tells them to get out of there. 

And then it’s just them, and Christen still can’t stop smiling. 

Tobin grins at her from the driver’s seat, squeezes her hand, and somehow everything just feels...right with the world, like this was where they were meant to end up all along. 

“We did it,” Christen says. 

Tobin nods. “We did.” And then she adds, “You’re my wife!” in this bubbly, excited way that makes it clear that she still can’t believe it. 

Christen gives her hand a squeeze back. “And you’re MY wife,” she replies. It feels both foreign and perfect rolling off her tongue. “My wife. Tobin Heath.”

“Heath-Press.”

“Press-Heath.” 

They both laugh. 

“Rock, paper, scissors you for it?” Tobin jokes. 

Christen cocks up an eyebrow and readjusts their hands, threading her fingers between Tobin’s. “I can think of better uses for our hands tonight, babe.”

Tobin grins a sultry grin at her. “Oh yeah? Guess we should get to the hotel, Mrs. Heath-Press.”

“Fast as we can, Mrs. Press-Heath.”

* * *

And in the haze of the morning, the sheets twisted around them as they're twisted around each other, their bodies spent in more ways than one, Christen feels Tobin start to whisper into her skin. She lays there, still and silent, wondering whether Tobin thinks she's asleep; wondering whether Tobin is even fully awake. Her voice is soft, almost delicate, as it carries through the quiet of the room. “I think I was always worried about us—that I couldn’t give you what you deserved. But you’ve taught me to realize that peace—that what we deserve—is what we make together. Thank you for that. And for trusting me. I love you. Forever.”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JCAL here.  
> I want to say thanks to Heath17_KO5 for writing this with me. She's been the Taylor Swift to my Aaron Dessner and brings the intentionalist bent when I get caught up in textualism. It's been quite a journey writing this story with you over the past 4+ months and I already feel nostalgic about it. I'm so glad we did it.  
> See you in the lyrics.
> 
> Also, thanks to all of our readers: thanks for your comments, kudos, and likes. But most importantly, thanks for giving this thing a shot. I know it's a bit atypical—two pairings at once and a multi-authored fic. We're humbled to have earned your attention.
> 
> Heath17_KO5 here:  
> Wanted to add my own thanks to our awesome readers! Your feedback all the way through has been amazing and truly appreciated. 
> 
> To JCAL, this has been a ride and we finally finished it! I'm proud of us! Thanks for creating this vision and having me write it with you!
> 
> Bonus thanks to Mrs. JCAL for sharing her time so that we could get this written. Much appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> We believe Black Lives Matter. Check out [the Black Lives Matter website](https://blacklivesmatter.com/global-actions/) for actions that you can take and ways to stay informed of the movement.


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